^>. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


2.2 


us 

us 


lAO 


2.0 


1.8 


11.25  111.4   III  1.6 


•i' 


PhotDgraphic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STMET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  873-4503 


Lfi 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
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microfiches. 


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Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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10X  14X  18X  22X 


26X 


30X 


K 


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16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


n 

32X 


re 

Idtails 
BS  du 
modifier 
Br  une 
filmaga 


les 


(  errata 
d  to 

It 

le  pelure, 

pon  d 


12 


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1 

2 

3 

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empreinte. 

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dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selo:i  le 
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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n6cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

,»faaftWfc«jKft>-r«»ii.<w*<*y»'*«iM»i»* 


% 


G  R I  S  E  L  DA 


"  <Wiiiiiiiiwmiii 


■ir""  •;:"";!■.  ''^^ 


! 


GRISELDA 


BY 


^ 


BASIL    KING 


" forgiveness,  sweet 

To  be  granted,  or  received." 

—WordiVHtrth, 


HERBERT  S.  STONE  AND  COMPANY 

ELDRIDGE  COURT,  CHICAGO 

MDCCCC 


COPYRIOHT,    1900,   BT 
MBIIBBIIT    S.    STOme  ft    CO 

73548 
NOV    10  I'JOO 

[  DEC  26  1900 


PAl 


m 


^■^     r.r. 


900,   BY 
>NX  ft   CO 


td 


00 


PART    I 


»«iw%MBann 


^  -imaam 


Lomonc 

I  at  Ascot. 

mouldily  i 

has  mello' 

lover  its  j 

1  has  laid  t 

I  comfort  a 

The  he 

j  Lomond 

[was  still  '. 

Winkfield 

and  the  p: 

I  a  touch  of 

J  don.     Ha 

I  of  the  Foi 

ling  in  su 

I  seemed 

I  Lomond 

I  his  choic 

I  his  affecl 


Griselda 


Lomond  Lodge  is  one  of  the  older  houses 
I  at  Ascot.  That  is  to  say,  it  is  neither 
Imouldily  ancient  nor  staringly  new.  Time 
has  mellowed  the  red  of  its  brick,  and  thrown 
lover  its  gabled  walls  a  mantle  of  vines,  but 
I  has  laid  no  damp  or  disturbing  hand  on  the 
I  comfort  and  beauty  within. 

The  house  was  begun  by  the  last  Lord 

Lomond  but  one,  in  the  days  when  Ascot 
I  was  still  little  more  than  an  outlying  part  of 

Winkfield  and  Sunninghill.  In  the  heather 
I  and  the  pines  of  Berkshire  the  old  peer  found 
I  a  touch  of  Scotland,  within  easy  reach  of  Lon- 
Idon.  Having  bought  land  on  the  outskirts 
I  of  the  Forest  of  Swinley,  he  placed  his  dwell- 
ling  in  such  a  way  that  the  ancient  wood 
I  seemed  part  of  his  own  domain.  Lord 
I  Lomond  soon  came  to  prefer  the  home  of 
I  his  choice  to  that  of  his  ancestors;  and  as 
|his  affection  grew  the  house  increased  in 


,  i 


u.^S^^ 


GRISELDA 


importance.  Whenever  needed,  new  wings 
were  added,  with  an  eye  to  convenience 
rather  than  effect.  The  result  was  rambling 
and  irregular,but  at  once  unpretentious  and 
picturesque. 

Little  by  little  House  of  Tulloch  in  Argyll- 
shire was  despoiled  of  its  hereditary  treas- 
ures, to  enrich    the    new  mansion  on  the 
southern  heath.     A  son  carried  forward  the 
work    which    the    father    began,    adorning 
rather  than  enlarging;  leaving  behind  him 
in   every    apartment    proofs    of    extensive!  He  did  not 
travel   and  exquisite  taste.     When,   there- 1  ripened  ra 
fore,  young  Lord  Glenorchie,  on  the  death 
of  a' distant  kinsman,  came  into  the  Earldom 
of  Lomond,  he  found  that  while  House  of 
Tulloch  stood  best  for  ancestral    dignity, 
Lomond  Lodge  was  the  pleasanter  place  of|ing  so  at  t: 
abode.     Lady  Glenorchie,  in  spite  of  herlan  open  I 
fierce  love  for  Scotland,  thought  so  too;  a,ndlyoiing  lad 
this  year  she  had  persuaded  her  son  to  give  Iciose  to  a 
up  his  August  visit  to  the  north,  in  order  toihe  lawn  c 


was  his  moi 
their  gues1 
Griselda  G 
Lady  Pt 
this  invitat 
Lady  Gleni 
for  the  girl 
be  a  socia 
never  seen 
had  not  tl 
mother  mo 


Lady  Gl 
known  a  1 
had,  perha 
Lord  Lom 


settle  down  for  a  few  quiet  months  under 
the  pines  which  had  recently  become  his 

own. 

This  was  contrary  not  only  to  fashionable 
example,  but  to  the  young  man's  inclination. 


3n  a  table 
:ontents  ( 
md  replac 
Lord  L< 
"Am  I 


He  had  yielded  only  when  he  knew  that  it  ;ame  neai 


GRISELDA 


was  his  mother's  intention  to  include  among 
their  guests  Lady  Phillida  Wimpole  and 
Griselda  Grant. 

Lady  Phillida  had  practically  asked  for 
this  invitation;  not  for  herself,  for  she  and 
Lady  Glenorchie  were  intimate  friends,  but 
for  the  girl  to  whom  she  had  undertaken  to 
be  a  social  guide.  Lady  Glenorchie  had 
never  seen  Miss  Grant;  and  Lord  Lomond 
had  not  thought  it  necessary  to  tell  his 
mother  more  than  the  fact  that  he  knew  her. 
He  did  not  say  that  their  acquaintance  had 
ripened  rapidly. 

Lady  Glenorchie  now  wished  that  she  had 
known  a  little  more  of  the  girl  whom  she 
had,  perhaps  rashly,  taken  under  her  roof. 
Lord  Lomond  wished  it  too.  He  was  think- 
easanter  place  oiling  so  at  the  very  moment  when, standing  at 
in  spite  of  herlan  open  French  window,  he  looked  at  the 
)Ught  so  too;  andlyoung  lady  herself.  Miss  Grant  was  sitting 
d  her  son  to  give  Iciose  to  a  high  holly  hedge,  in  a  comer  of 
lorth,  in  order  to  |the  lawn  overshadowed  by  a  group  of  pines 


led,  new  wings 
:o  convenience 
It  was  rambling 
pretentious  and 

lUoch  in  Argyll- 
lereditary  treas- 
lansion  on  the 
led  forward  the 
egan,    adorning 
ing  behind  him 
s    of    extensive 
When,   there- 
ie,  on  the  death 
nto  the  Earldom 
while  House  of 
cestral    dignity, 


et  months  under 
ntly  become  his 

ily  to  fashionable 
nan's  inclination. 


he  knew  that  it  :ame  near  her. 


On  a  table  at  her  side  was  a  leather  box,  the 
;ontents  of  which  she  was  slowly  reading 
md  replacing. 

Lord  Lomond  sauntered  towards  her. 

"Am  I  disturbing  you?"  he  asked  as  he 


i 


GRISELDA 


.1- 


i! 


"Not  a  bit,"  she  answered  promptly,  look- 
ing up  with  a  smile.  "Find  a  chair  and  sit 
down.  The  drowsiness  of  after  lunch  seems 
to  have  laid  low  every  one  in  the  house." 

"So  that  even  my  society  is  better  than 
none,"  he  said,  as  he  drew  a  chair  towards 
her  table,  and  sat  down.  "What  a  serious- 
looking  box!" 

"  It  w  serious, ' '  she  said.  ' ' It  contains  all 
my  secrets;  or,  at  least,  all  that  are  com- 
mitted to  paper. " 

"I  thought  it  was  a  man's  privilege  to 
taste  the  pleasure  that  lies  in  the  concealed. 
What  can  a  woman  ever  want  to  hide?  Isn't 
her  life  an  open  book?" 

"I  wish  mine  v/ere,"  Griselda  said  with  a 
light  sigh.  "I  have  come  to  the  age  when 
one  knows  that  the  power  to  be  absolutely 
open  and  frank  is  the  most  lasting  luxury  in 

life." 

"May  I  ask  if  this  wisdom  is  the  result  of 
observation  or  of  precocious  experience?" 

"If  it  must  be  one  or  the  other  let  us  c^ll 
it  experience,  precocious  or  not,  as  you 
please.  I  must  have  chosen  my  words  badly 
if  I  failed  to  convey  something  like  the  same 
idea  the  other  day. " 

"You  told  me  that  before  you  could  prom- 


ise to  t 
personi 
explair 

"An 
to  whe 

"Yoi 
I  am  vi 

"Id> 
light  c 
Englis] 
Miss  E 
[her  to 
she  coi 
I  to  the 

'An 
I  table  { 
else,  ( 
[heart, 

"Ma 
I  for  on 

"Bu 

"On 
jit?  Y 
Ipositic 
but  I  i 
Ibut  I  ! 
■that  a 
lyour  < 


,DA 


GRISELDA 


red  promptly,  look- 
ind  a  chair  and  sit 
f  after  lunch  seems 
e  in  the  house." 
;iety  is  better  than 
ew  a  chair  towards 
"What  a  serious- 

d.  "It  contains  all  I 
,  all  that  are  com- 

man's  privilege  to 
es  in  the  concealed, 
want  to  hide?   Isn't 

jriselda  said  with  a 
me  to  the  age  when 
ver  to  be  absolutely 
3st  lasting  luxury  in 

sdom  is  the  result  of 
ious  experience?" 
the  other  let  us  c9.ll 
us  or  not,  as  you 
)sen  my  words  badly 
lething  like  the  same 

fore  you  could  prom- 


ise to  be  my  wife  there  were  certain  matters 
personal  to  yourself,  which  ought  to  be 
explained." 

"And  that  I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind  as 
to  whether  or  not  to  give  the  explanation." 

"You  are  not  pressed  for  time,  you  know. 
I  am  willing  to  wait." 

"I  don't  know  that  time  will  throw  much 
light  on  the  way.  Oh,  how  I  envy  your 
English  girls  the  simplicity  of  their  position! 
j  Miss  Dumbleton,  for  instance,  if  you  asked 
Iher  to  marry  you,  could  answer  at  once; 
she  could  at  least  say  Yes  or  No,  according 
I  to  the  inclination  of  her  heart." 

"And  can't  you?"  he  said,  leaning  on  the 
I  table  and  looking  her  in  the    yes.     "What 
else,   other   than   the  inclination   of   your 
[heart,  is  there  to  consider?" 

"Many  things.  There  is  your  position, 
Ifor  one." 

"But  you  don't  think  of  that." 

"On  the  contrary  I  do.  How  can  I  help 
lit?  You  offer  me  an  honored  name,  a  high 
I  position,  and  great  wealth.  I  may  be  rich, 
jbut  I  am  a  stranger;  I  may  be  independent 
[but  I  am  absolutely  unknown.  I  don't  deny 
[that  apart  from  all  considerations  of  love, 
lyour  offer  would  be  a  temptation  to  any 


\J 


.;.^xstVWnAi^^^'«c)^^' 


6  GRISELDA 

girl  like  me.  In  marrying  you  I  should  be 
making  what  every  one  would  call  a  great 
match.  There  have  been  moments  within 
the  last  few  days  when  I  have  felt  like  giv 
ing  up  everything  to  do  it." 

"Giving  up  what?" 

"Giving  up  all  other  considerations." 

"Tell  me  of  them." 

"Tell  me  something  first.  What  do  yow 
know  about  me?  When  Lady  Glenorchie 
asked  me  to  come  down  here,  why  did  she 

do  it?" 

"If  you  want  to  know  the  exact  reason 
she  did  it  to  please  Lady  Phillida." 

"What  did  Lady  Phillida  tell  her?  She 
must  have  given  some  explanation  of  me.' 

♦'She  didn't  give  any.  Every  one  knows 
that  Lady  Phillida's  girls  go  without  say- 

^^^•"  ^  It 

/  i       "Even  when  they  appear  on  the  scene  like 

J   \   Melchisedek,  king  of  Salem,  without  father, 
(   without  mother,  and  without  pedigree." 
I        "In  London  when  one  has  wit,  wealth, 
I    and  beauty  all  doors  are  opened  and  few 
i    questions  asked." 

"I  have  found  that  true;  and  yet  it  is  a 

little  humiliating  to  be  taken  on  the  terms.' 

"I  didn't  say  that  in  your  case  they  were 


-*ivianss5^!«fe-'»--w.FsassSwSr 


the  o 

Shetl 

undei 

mean 

social 

"O 

"A 

"A 

tion  t 

antee 

is  qui 

but  t 

differ 

"I  I 

"Si 

prove 

intow 

have 

that  i 

that  ] 

then?' 

Lor 

"I  J 

marrii 

"Ai 

Aga 

went  < 


LDA 


GRISELDA 


ing  you  I  should  be  j 
J  would  call  a  great 
en  moments  within] 
I  have  felt  like  giv- 
it." 

lonsiderations." 

first.  What  do  youl 
in  Lady  Glenorchiel 
n  here,  why  did  she  I 

w  the  exact  reason,  | 
yrPhillida." 
illida  tell  her?  Shel 
explanation  of  me. "I 
Every  one  knows! 
iris  go  without  say[ 

pear  on  the  scene  like 
alem,  without  father, 
ithout  pedigree." 
>ne  has  wit,  wealth, 
are  opened  and  fev 

true;  and  yet  it  is  a 
taken  on  the  terms, 
1  your  case  they  were 


t**'-'.^"r.''r.3^.:^Vjggjj^ngpg^y^^^ 


the  only  passports.  I  was  thinking  of  Lady 
Shetland  and  Mrs,  de  la  Pole  who  were 
under  Lady  Phillida's  wing  before  you.  I 
mean  only  that  to  be  with  her  is  always  a 
social  guarantee." 

"Of  external  qualifications." 

'  'And  general  excellence. ' ' 

"As  far  as  it  goes;  having  the  same  rela- 
tion to  the  excellence  which  needs  no  guar- 
antee as  German  Delft  to  Dutch.  The  one 
is  quite  content  to  be  taken  for  the  other; 
but  the  connoisseur  is  always  aware  of  a 
difference  in  make." 

"I  cannot  discuss  that." 

"Suppose  I  married  you,  and  afterwards  I 
proved  to  be— well,  not  of  the  sort  of  family 
into  which  the  Glenorchies  and  the  Lomonds 
have  generally  married?  Suppose,  in  fact, 
that  about  my  origin  there  was  something 
that  I  should  always  want  to  hide?  What 
then?" 

Lord  Lomond  hesitated  a  moment. 

"I  should  expect  you  to  tell  it  me  before 
marriage,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  gravely. 

"And  if  I  did?" 

Again  Lord  Lomond  hesitated  and  she 
went  on. 

"I  won't  press  you  for  an  answer  now," 


-f 


.tiM^MrWaiiMtiSttDMti^M 


g  GRISELDA 

she  said  "But  it  is  one  of  the  considera- 
"'which  I  spoke.  Though  I  haven't 
known  you  long  I  think  I  know  you  weU- 
sufficiently  well  at  least  to  see  that  your 
ruling  trait  is  pride." 

He    started   slightly,    and    would    have 

'^°  Wait,"  she  said,  with  a  quick  gesture 

r.(  the  hand     "Let  me  go  on.    You  are 
of  the  hana.       i^  b  Graham, 

intensely  proud  of  being  ^^^8^' 
You  are  proud  of  havmg  ^f  ^^  ^^ ^^ 
picturesque  and  historic  P^st-  Y^^^^^ 
proud  of  being  its  living  i^^^^^^^^^^^^.  7°; 
are  proud  of  every  link  in  your  lineage. 
You  are  proud  of  the  very  syllables  of  your 

"^^^Do  I  show  that?"  he  asked,  flushing. 

-No    you   don't.     I    divine   it;    and    I 
like  it '  Only,  if  you  married  me,  you  would 
certa  nly  do  lo  thinking  I  was  not  your  equal 
What  I  should  have  to  tell  you  and  what  I 
lould  have  to  conceal  would  alike  make  yo. 
think  so.     You  would  love  me,  no  doubt^ 
but  you  would  love  me  with  a  reserve,  with 
a  regret  that  you  should  be  the  first  of  the 
two  families  you  represent  to.^^^^^f  ^^^^ 
ditions  of  the  race,  to  bnng  into  the  blood 
anything  like  a  stain." 


marryi 
which 


I  view. 
"Th 

I  shows 


■^  »-.gi/- 


X 


)A 

of  the  considera- 
rhough  I  haven't 
know  you  well- 
to  see  that  your 

md    would    have 

h  a  quick  gesture 
go  on.  You  are 
g  Nigel  Graham, 
ttg  behind  you  a 
:  past.  You  are 
incarnation.  You 
in  your  lineage, 
■y  syllables  of  your 

isked,  flushing, 
divine   it;    and    I 
Tied  me,  you  would 
was  not  your  equal, 
tell  you  and  what  I 
ould  alike  make  yoti 
ove  me,  no  doubt; 
with  a  reserve,  with 
I  be  the  first  of  the 
ent  to  break  the  tra- 
(ring  into  the  blood 


GRISBLDA  9 

"I  think  you  might  permit  me  to  be  the 
best  judge  of  that." 

"No,  I  can't,"  she  replied  proudly.  "It 
concerns  myself  too  closely,  I  am  certain 
that  until  you  saw  me  you  never  thought  of 
marrying  out  of  some  of  the  great  families 
which  you  consider  equal  to  your  own.  I 
am  certain,  too,  that  if  you  did  so,  you 
would  consider  it  a  misfortime." 

"All  that  is  very  much  out  of  date,  now- 
a-days.     You  speak  as  if  I  were " 

"A  survival.  That  is  what  you  are.  In 
Piccadilly,  in  Paris,  in  India,  or  at  Ascot,  in 
spite  of  all  your  outward  modernity,  you 
are  at  heart  the  great  Scotch  lord  of  two 
hundred  years  'ago ;  just  as  your  mother  is 
the  great  Scotch  lady." 

"Oh,  as  for  my  mother,"  Lord  Lomond 
said,  moving  uneasily,  "you  know  she  was  a 
Campbell  of  Kilronan.  She  thinks  the  sun 
shouldn't  shine  except  for  the  great  families 
of  Argyll." 

"And  I  do  not  agree  with  her,"  Griselda 
said  with  spirit.  "I  could  never  take,  nor 
consent  to  pretend  to  take,  that  point  of 
view." 

"That  is  where  the  American  in  you 
shows  itself . " 


'*?  •~'gt/~^'^*'Jk 


*(^i*^.)4%^tdfe»j.^^ss»*r^i**^sai4s«s!rfi<i«^ 


■ 

1 


y 


II  :i 


10 


GRISELDA 


•'Of  that  I  am  no  judge.  I  only  see  that 
on  this  great  subject;  which  more  or  less 
determines  one's  whole  attitude  towards  life, 
Lady  Glenorchie  and  I  are  as  wide  apart 

as •• 

"Feudalism  from  freedom." 

"I  was  going  to  say  the  New  World  from 
the  Old.  When  I  lived  in  France  the  Prince 
d'l^na  nicknamed  me  the  Declaration  of 
Independence;  but  Madame  de  St.  Caste 
used  to  call  me  the  Rights  of  Man." 

"I  should  have  made  it  the  Goddess  of 

Liberty." 

"While  you  and  Lady  Glenorchie  always 
^eep  me  humming,  Scots  tv/ia  hae." 

"But  we  are  wandering  from  our  subject," 
he  said  smiling. 

"Quite  so.  I  was  about  to  say  that  owing 
to  our  wide  differences  of  opinion.as  well  as 
to  other  circumstances,  Lady  Glenorchie 
would  never  consent  to  receive  me  as  your 

wife." 

"In  the  end  she  would  consent  to  anything 

forme." 

"She  doesn't  like  me." 

"There  you  are  wrong.     She  adm'res  you 
immensely." 

"She  admires  me  in  a  certain  hostile  way 


becaus( 

dress  a 

"She 

the  be! 

any  gir 

first  ca 

"Sh€ 

"Wh 

dent." 

"Beca 

possess 

birth  i 

like  th 

who  ei 

noble 

the  sa 

Glenoi 

Witho 

I  mig 

until  1 

with 

adoptc 


worth 
mixed 
good 
preju( 


^aU«Ml»A.'!Vf>^ 


DA 


GRISELDA 


II 


e.     I  only  see  that  i 
dich  more  or  less] 
titude  towards  life, 
are  as  wide  apart 

om." 

e  New  World  from  i 
1  France  the  Prince 
he    Declaration  of 
ame   de   St.    Caste] 
:s  of  Man." 
it  the  Goddess  of 

J  Glenorchie  always 

wha  hae. 

r  from  our  subject, " 

ut  to  say  that  owing 
)f  opinion, as  well  as 
i,  Lady  Glenorchie 
1  receive  me  as  your  I 

consent  to  anything 


g.     She  adm'res  you 
I  certain  hostile  way 


because  I  have  her  own   fastidiousness  in 
dress  and  personal  surroundings." 

"She  thinks  you  have  the  best  taste  and 
the  best  manners  and  the  most  dignity  of 
any  girl  she  knows.  She  said  so  when  you 
first  came  down. ' ' 
"She  would  scarcely  say  it  now." 
"Why  not?  Tiie  facts  are  equally  evi- 
dent." 

"Because  in  Lady  Glenorchie 's  opinion  the 
possession  of  such  qualities  without  good 
birth  is  a  pretension  and  a  liberty.  It  is 
I  like  the  presumption  of  newly  rich  persons 
who  emblazon  on  their  carriages  the  arms  of 
noble  families  because  they  happen  to  bear 
the  same  names.  Good  birth  is  to  Lady 
Glenorchie  what  charity  was  to  St.  Paul. 
Without  it  all  other  virtues  proht  nothing. 
I  might  give  my  body  to  be  burned,  but 
imtil  I  could  prove  some  remote  connection 
with  the  landed  gentry  I  could  never  be 
adopted  by  her  as  a  daughter." 

"I  admit  the  truth  of  what  you  say,  but 
you  mustn't  count  it  for  more  than  it  is 
worth.  My  mother,  like  most  of  us,  is  of  a 
mixed  character.  She  is  proud,  but  she  has 
good  principles;  she  has  a  great  deal  of 
prejudice,  but  also  a  great  deal  of  heart. 


■  'x^i^A^'timht^Mii^tm.im. 


ix.«i('fc^W»*W^*^.j*W»-:-dw..^w^fcSK*^"v^i^'*M»i^ 


X 


IS 


GRISELDA 


She  is  at  once  a  woman  of  the  world  and  a 
Puritan ;  disdainful  of  those  who  are  not  her 
equals,  and  yet  capable  of  humbling  herself 
in  the  dust. ' ' 

"She  is  hard  to  win. " 

"Yes,  but  being  won  she  yields  without 
reserve.  You  will  find  it  so  when  once  she 
knows  your  goodness." 

"I  fear  I  am  perverse  enough  only  to  dis- 
play my  goodness  where  I  have  been  admit- 
ted for  love." 

"She  will  love  you  too,"  he  said  eagerly. 
"I  see  it  even  now.  She  is  conscious  at  this 
moment  that  in  fighting  against  you  she  is 
fighting  against  her  better  self.  She  will 
give  way." 

"Possibly;  but  even  so  I  doubt  if  such  an 
unwilling  affection  would  be  that  with  which 
I  could  be  content. ' ' 

Griselda  Grant  spoke  quietly,  but  her  eye 
flashed,  and  the  color  rose  to  her  cheek, 

"I  am  sorry,"  Lord  Lomond  said  gently 
"I  had  hoped  such  different  things  when 
you  came  here." 

"And  I  too,"  she  said. 

"You?"  he  asked,  glancing  at  her  quickly. 
"What  did  you  hope?  Is  it  possible  tiat  you 
cared  for  me  a  little?" 


"Of 

tell  yo 

"that  s 

"I  c 

gesture 

calmly 

purely 

did  no 

meant 

so,  I'd 

"I  a 

sion. 

only  ti 

more. 

someo: 

say  n< 

arrive* 

to-day 

"At 

"Nc 

the  er 

own." 

"W 

"N< 

one. 

bum. 

my  fa 

broug 


DA 

f  the  world  and  a 
e  who  are  not  her 
humbling  herself 


le  yields  without 
so  when  once  she 

lough  only  to  dis- 
have  been  admit- 

'  he  said  eagerly, 
s  conscious  at  this 
against  you  she  is 
3r  self.     She  will 

I  doubt  if  such  an 
be  that  with  which 

aietly,  but  her  eye 

to  her  cheek. 

nond  said  gently. 

rent  things  when 


ing  at  her  quickly. 
it  possible  that  you 


GRISELDA 


ij 


"Of  all  the  many  things  I  may  have  to 
tell  you,"  she  said  with  simple  gravity, 
"that  shall  be  the  last." 

"I  can't  make  you  out,"  he  said,  with  a 
gesture  of  impatience.  "You  speak  as 
calmly  as  if  our  marriage  would  be  an  affair 
purely  of  the  intellect,  into  which  the  heart 
did  not  enter.  Is  all  that  you  have  said 
meant  to  prepare  me  for  your  refusal?  If 
so,  I'd  rather  know  at  once." 

"I  am  not  ready  yet  to  give  you  my  deci- 
sion. You  asked  me  to  take  time,  and  I'm 
only  taking  it.  But  I  shall  not  need  much 
more.  At  this  moment  I  am  waiting  to  see 
someone  whom  I  must  first  consult.  I  can 
say  nothing  till  I  see  him.  He  has  just 
arrived  from  America.  I  expect  him  here 
to-day." 

"And  you  will  go  by  his  decision?" 
"Not  at  all.     But  I  want  his  advice.     In 
the  end  I  shall  act  on  no  decision  but  my 
own." 

"Who  is  he?  A  relative ?" 
"No,  not  a  relative,  and  yet  nearer  than 
one.  His  name  is  Grayburn — Botolph  Gray- 
bum.  He  was  my  father's  friend.  When 
my  father  and  mother  died  he  took  me  and 
brought  me  up.     I  owe  everything  to  him. 


'«ki^*«il^tue■EccMB•»al^^<'^NL'^l^»^lirav>^l'•M:'•i■4^-«u«^  -4>i^uF4<«iu 


<4 


GRISELDA 


\  I 


I  could  not  act  in  so  grave  a  mr.tter  as  this 
without  consulting  him." 

"You're  very  prudent,  Griselda.  I  don't 
think  I  ever  knew  any  one  so  much  so,  and 
so  young." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  smiling.  "I'm  obliged 
to  be  prudent.  But  don't  call  me  Griselda, 
Lord  Lomond— at  least  not  yet  It  will  be 
harder,  you  know,  to  go  back  to  the  more 
formal  name  if  that  should  be  necessary. 
Let  everything  be  as  it  has  been  for  a  little 
while  longer.  You  won't  regret  it  in  the 
end,  whatever  answer  I  may  give  you." 

"I  can  only  bow  to  your  wishes." 

"Even  though  ungraciously.  But  let  us 
change  the  subject,  I  have  something  to 
show  you.     Look;  that's  my  father." 

As  she  spoke  she  drew  from  among  the 
papers  in  the  box  beside  her  a  small  photo- 
graph.    He  took  it  from  her  and  looked  at  it 

silently. 

"Of  course  it's  old,"  she  explained,  "and 
faded.  It  was  taken  over  twenty  years  ago." 

"He's  dead?"  Lord  Lomond  asked,  glanc- 
ing from  the  photograph  to  her. 

"Yes.  He  died  in  America  just  before  I 
was  born.  Do  you  notice  a  likeness  to  any 
one?" 


"YC! 

It's   ci 

have  c 

did  yo\ 

"Th 

Keene 

Lady 

called 

"Is! 

ship  t 

steadil 

body  s 

lochs ; 

and  hi 

no   Ti 

going 

Queer 

right 

the  Lc 

"Te 

I  taking 

and  p 

she    c 

to   tit 

I  things 

She 
I gazed 
hashes 


A»»«i«t«HWi«miWtl0M»U~»»'^'V««l 


»A 

5  a  mp.tter  as  this 

rriselda.     I  don't 
i  so  much  so,  and 


GRISBLDA 


«5 


y.  "I'm  obliged 
call  me  Griselda, 
it  yet  It  will  be 
)ack  to  the  more 
Id  be  necessary, 
s  been  for  a  little 
;  regret  it  in  the 
ly  give  you," 
wishes." 

usly.  But  let  us 
ave  something  to 
ny  father." 

from  among  the 
her  a  small  photo- 
er  and  looked  at  it 

e  explained,  "and 
wenty  years  ago." 
tiond  asked,  glanc- 
:o  her. 

erica  just  before  I 
i  a  likeness  to  any 


"Yes,"  said  Lomond  instantly,  "to  me. 
It's  curious,  isn't  it?  One  would  almost 
have  called  it  a  family  resemblance.  When 
did  you  remark  it?" 

"The  first  time  I  saw  you;  at  Lady 
Keene's.  It  impressed  me  so,  that  I  asked 
Lady  Phillida  who  you  were.  Then  she 
called  you  to  us,  you  remember," 

"I  should  suspect  some  unknown  relation- 
ship between  us,"  said  Lomond,  looking 
steadily  at  the  photograph,  "only  that  every- 
body says  I  am  a  'throw  back'  to  the  Tul- 
lochs;  and  except  the  last  Lord  Lomond 
and  his  family  there  have  been  practically 
no  TuUochs  for  a  hundred  years.  I  am 
going  to  add  the  name  to  mine  under  the 
Queen's  sign-manual,  I  shall  have  the 
right  to  do  so  because  of  my  succession  to 
the  Lomond  title. ' ' 

"Tell    me    about    that,"    said    Griselda, 

[taking    the    photograph    from    his    hand, 

and  putting  it  back   into   the  box,  which 

she    closed.      "How    do    people    succeed 

to    titles?    I   am   so    ignorant  of  all  such 

[things." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  garden  chair,  and 
I  gazed  at  him  steadily  under  her  long  dark 
hashes.     For  the    moment   his   eyes    were 


i«*«t,iiii:';iU;^swass*eK- 


iS«,<i*!in»'«»a»WK*)oi^- 


I-ll 

jl 

m 


■lit 


»!ll', 


I'l 


i6 


GRISELDA 


r 


turned  from  hers,  and  he  did  not  see  how 

she  was  studying  him. 

"It  is  very  simple,"  he  said,  assummg  an 
indifference  which  he  did  not  feel,  fearing 
lest  Griselda  should  again  accuse  him  of 
pride     "I  succeeded  to  the  barony  of  Glen- 
orchie  on  my  father's   death.     That  is  a 
comparatively   modern    title,  and,  smce  it 
belongs  to  the  peerage  of    Great  Bntam. 
gives  me  my  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords. 
The  Earldom  of  Lomond,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  very  ancient  and  belongs  to  the  peerage 
of  Scotland.     It  was  one  of    the  origmal 
Seven  Earldoms  which  play  such  a  part  in 
early  Scottish  history.     Like  the  other  old 
Scotch  Earldoms  it  descends  in  the  female 
line  as  well  as  in  the  male.    When  the  last 
Lord  Lomond  died  some  months  ago,  the 
male  line  became  extinct,  as  it  has  done 
twice  before.     The  title  and  entailed  estates 
then  passed  to  the  heirs  of  Alison  TuUoch, 
who    married    the   first    Lord   Glenorchie. 
Since  I  am  Alison  Tulloch's  great  grand- 
son I  inherit  her  rights.     That's  all." 

"So  that  if  Alison  TuUoch  had  lived  all 
these  years  she  would  have  been  Countess 
of  Lomond  in  her  own  right." 

"Precisely.      She   would   have   lost   the 


*      v.. 


;*,  i  .«tiJi*<-  *-  isf^vn**!"^'''*^' 


i»..<'^««^/i>wj«>fi»jaMi»^M«M'^--'>i^ 


^MmMSkti^ 


baronj 

would 

"Wl 

when 

marry 

"Ye 

and  ha 

and   w 

Ameri 

says,  t 

Lomoi 

case  il 

father, 

him  ai 

"Di( 

"Ne 

father 

remait 

TuUoc 

them, 

that  tl 

them  i 

had  tl 

often  1 

me." 

"Yo 

"In 

as  aha 


DA 

did  not  see  how 

5aid,  assuming  an 
not  feel,  fearing 
in  accuse  him  of 
le  barony  of  Glen- 
leath.     That  is  a 
itle,  and,  since  it 
of    Great  Britain, 
>  House  of  Lords, 
on  the  other  hand, 
igs  to  the  peerage 
e  of    the  original 
(lay  such  a  part  in 
L,ike  the  other  old 
jnds  in  the  female 
lie.    When  the  last 
e  months  ago,  the 
[Ct,  as  it  has  done 
and  entailed  estates 
of  Alison  TuUoch, 
Lord   Glenorchie. 
ioch's  great  grand- 

Thafs  all." 
lUoch  had  lived  all 
have  been  Countess 
ighf 
uld   have   lost   the 


GRISELDA 


n 


barony  of  Inversnaid  as  I  did,  but  she 
would  have  retained  the  earldom." 

"Why  did  the  male  line  become  extinct 
when  Lord  Lomond  died?  Did  he  never 
marry?" 

"Yes;  he  married  Lady  Jane  Macpherson, 
and  had  one  son.  This  son  went  to  the  bad 
and  was  killed  I  believe  somewhere  in 
America.  There  was  a  report,  my  mother 
says,  that  he  was  hanged,  but  if  old  Lord 
Lomond  knew  he  would  never  tell.  In  any 
case  it  is  certain  that  he  died  before  his 
father,  and  that  there  was  no  heir  between 
him  and  me. ' ' 

"Did  the  son  ever  live  here?" 

"Never  to  my  knowledge.  He  and  the 
father  were  always  at  odds,  so  that  the  one 
remained  here  and  the  other  at  House  of 
TuUoch.  Naturally  we  know  little  about 
them,  for  the  relationship  was  so  distant 
that  there  never  was  any  intimacy  between 
them  and  us.  In  later  years  Lord  Lomond 
had  the  same  dislike  of  me  that  old  men 
often  have  of  their  heirs  and  would  not  see 
me. 

"You  knew  him  though?" 

"I  met  him  once  only.  I  remember  him 
as  a  handsome  old  man  with  a  hard  expres- 


!u<iuA(fK>>iPi 


^MwatmnHS* 


]  ' 


'.  , 


II  I 


I  I 


r  I 


i8 


GRISELDA 


sion,  just  as  he  looks  in  his  portrait  m  the 
hall.  He  had  the  air  of  hating  the  whole 
world  and  of  being  aware  that  the  whole 
world  hated  him.  He  belonged  to  the  Court 
during  the  Prince  Consort's  time,  and  the 
Queen  told  me  when  I  dined  at  Windsor 
that  she  had  a  great  respect  for  him.  His 
later  life  was  lonely  and  he  spent  most  of 
his  time  in  travel,  collecting  the  pretty 
things,  of  which,  as  you  see,  this  house  is 

full." 

"This  was  his  home  then?" 

"Yes;  he  disliked  Scotland.  After  the 
death  or  disappearance  of  Inversnaid,  the 
son,  he  shut  up  House  of  Tulloch."  ^^ 

"You  have  been  there,  I  suppose?" 

"Just  to  look  at  it." 

"Is  it  a  fine  place?" 

"Magnificent,  but  neglected.  When  I 
have  time  I  mean  to  put  it  in  order  and 
make  it  my  Scotch  residence.  Glenorchie 
Castle  is  only  a  small  house,  with  no  partic- 
ular beauty.  The  whole  of  Glen  Tulloch  is 
wild  and  romantic,  one  of  the  finest  bits  of 
scenery  in  the  north.  Whenever  I  think  of 
it  I  seem  to  see  you  there  as  mistress.  My 
mother  could  keep  Glenorchie  Castle,  and 
she  has  her  own  house  at  Tunbridge  Wells. 


self. 


■^**iaiii«»aa*i(fe(t*ii=*E*y -■  -^'-^-A 


.i4;it»tv^^^imii<^.^^^-V<^j^^^'^iiJ^ 


,DA 

his  portrait  in  the 
E  hating  the  whole 
ire  that  the  whole 
longed  to  the  Court 
art's  time,  and  the 

dined  at  Windsor 
pect  for  him.  His 
i  he  spent  most  of 
[lecting  the  pretty 
1  see,  this  house  is 

henV 

Gotland.     After  the 
of  Inversnaid,  the 
,f  Tulloch." 
i,  I  suppose?" 


leglected.  When  I 
put  it  in  order  and 
sidence.  Glenorchie 
Louse,  with  no  partic- 
,le  of  Glen  Tulloch  is 
J  of  the  finest  bits  of 
Whenever  I  think  of 
lere  as  mistress.  My 
lenorchie  Castle,  and 
i  at  Tunbridge  Wells. 


GRISELDA 


19 


You  would  have  no  interference  either  here 
or  at  House  of  Tulloch " 

At  this  moment  the  young  man  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  arrival  of  a  servant  bearing 
on  a  silver  salver  a  card  which  he  offered  to 
Miss  Grant.  Having  glanced  at  the  name 
Griselda  passed  the  card  to  Lord  Lomond. 

"Show  Mr.  Grayburn  into  the  library," 
she  said  to  the  servant,  "and  say  I  will  come 
at  once. " 

"At  last  the  oracle  is  to  speak,"  Lomond 
said,  rising  as  she  rose.  "Shall  I  carry  your 
box  for  you?" 

"Thanks,  no.  I  want  you  to  stay  here. 
If  the  oracle  is  to  speak  I  prefer  that  it  shall 
be  before  having  seen  you. ' ' 

She  gave  him  a  friendly  nod  and  smile, 
and  went  towards  the  house. 

Lomond  sat  down  again  and  gazed  after 
the  girl's  slight,  graceful  figure,  as  she 
walked  across  the  lawn.  She  was  not  tall, 
but  carried  herself  with  dignity.  With  un- 
usual charm,  rather  than  unusual  beauty,  she 
produced  upon  the  beholder  an  impression 
of  neatness,  completeness,  intelligence,  in- 
dependence, and  pride. 

"I  will  marry  her,"  said  Lomond  to  him- 
self, "if  I  have  to  fight  her  for  her  own 


,.  :i^js^^;^;tifiiaiys!»Jte^A>fi«**'><***-M  --'^ 


30 


GRISELDA 


hand.     She  has  in  her   something   better  | 
than  good  blood." 
And  yet  he  had  some  misgiving. 


:^- 


■^.ugHfiia'MtaBiaW 


.DA 

something   better  I 


msgiving. 


When  Griselda  Grant  entered  the  library 
she  laid  the  box  she  carried  on  the  nearest 
table,  and  went  forward  with  outstretched 
hands  to  meet  the  man  who  stood  awaiting 
her. 

"How  good  you  are  to  come!"  she  cried. 
"To  see  you  makes  me  feel  at  home  again." 

"Especially,"  he  said,  stooping  to  kiss 
her,  "as  we  have  no  home  but  in  each 
other." 

"Why  have  you  stayed  so  long  at  that 
dreadful  Limping  Creek?" 

"In  order  to  enrich  you  by  an  additional 
thousand  pounds  a  year." 

"The  reason  is  insufficient.  I  would 
rather  have  lost  the  thousand  pounds " 

"And  retained  my  society.  Thank  you, 
my  dear.  What  you  say  is  all  the  more 
charming  from  the  fact  that  I  have  come 
back,  not  to  leave  you  any  more." 

"Time  alone  can  make  me  credit  that.  I 
can't  conceive  of  your  presence  as  other  than 
intermittent  like  a  fever." 


tmeh. 


as 


GRISELDA 


"But  now  it  is  to  be   chronic  like  the 

gout." 

They  both  laughed,  and  Griselda  said : 
"Sit  down.  I  want  to^look  at  you.  I  want 
to  feast  my  eyes  on  your  dear,  old  face.  To 
see  you  again,  after  the  life  I  have  been  lead- 
ing, is  like  going  back  to  Nature  after  Art. 
It  is  like  refreshing  one's  sense  of  sight  with 
a  White  Mountain  landscape,  after  the  car- 
riages and  dresses  of  Hyde  Park." 

"I  have  an  excellent  tailor,"  Grayburn 
said,  as  they  sat  down  side  by  side  on  a 
leather  covered  sofa.  "I  haven't  come 
straight  from  Limping  Creek.  I  should  be 
sorry  to  suggest  wild  nature  too  directly." 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  she  cried, 
laughing  again.  "If  you  suggest  nature  it 
is  because  you  suggest  home.  If  you  make 
me  think  of  the  White  Mountains  it  is  be- 
cause you  bring  me  a  sense  of  rest.  Besides, 
you  are  more  rugged  than  the  men  I  meet. 
They  are  all  hot-house  grown,  while  you 
have  pushed  your  way  up  among  the  hills." 
"I  don't  know  whether  that  is  flattery  or 
not.  Personally  I  think  I'd  rather  be  a 
palm-tree  than  a  pine. " 

' '  I  like  you  better  as  you  are.    Any  woman 
would. " 


"An 

the  m 

yourg 

"Oh 

"On   \ 

fact  ol 

tree,  s 

precial 

"Fo 

"Fo 

other. 

As 

compa 

had  ji 

betwei 

charac 

spring 

from 

Wher< 

them 

distim 

Bot 

dierly 

bum 

throuj 

Lomo 

tried, 

his  li 


)A 

chronic  like  the 

Griselda  said : 
)k  at  you.  I  want 
;ar,  old  face.  To 
I  have  been  lead- 
Nature  after  Art. 
ense  of  sight  with 
ipe,  after  the  car- 
Park. " 

tailor,"  Grayburn 
ide  by  side  on  a 
I  haven't  come 
eek.  I  should  be 
re  too  directly." 
ean,"  she  cried, 
suggest  nature  it 
me.  If  you  make 
fountains  it  is  be- 
5  of  rest.  Besides, 
ti  the  men  I  meet, 
frown,  while  you 
among  the  hills." 
•  that  is  flattery  or 
:  I'd  rather  be  a 

1  are.    Any  woman 


GRISELDA 


i$ 


"Am  I  to  judge  by  this  approbation  that 
the  men  you  have  met  have  not  merited 
your  good  opinion?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  say  that,"  she  said  hastily. 
"On  the  contrary,  indeed.  Perhaps  the 
fact  of  having  spent  one's  life  under  a  pine- 
tree,  so  to  speak,  makes  one  all  the  more  ap- 
preciative of  a  grove  of  palms." 
"For  preference  or  for  contrast?" 
"For  the  advantage  the  one  gives  the 
other." 

As  she  spoke  Griselda  was  unconsciously 
comparing  Grayburn  to  the  young  man  she 
had  just  left  on  the  lawn.  The  difference 
between  them  was  more  than  one  of  age  or 
character.  It  was  the  difference  which 
springs  from  circumstance  and  surroundings, 
from  point  of  view  and  manner  of  life. 
Wherever  there  were  resemblances  between 
them  the  dissimilarities  became  even  more 
distinct. 

Both  were  tall — Lomond  straight  and  sol- 
dierly like  a  life-guardsman  on  duty.  Gray- 
bum  a  little  bent  like  a  watchman  peering 
through  a  storm.  B6th  were  strong- 
Lomond  like  a  young  giant  who  has  never 
tried,  Grayburn  like  an  athlete  who  has  spent 
his  life  in  contest.     Both  had  distinction — 


ii, 

Til 


GRISELDA 


Lomond  that  of  leisure  and  command,  Gray- 
burn  that  of  energy  and  conquest.    Both  had 
faces  to  attract  attention— Lomond's  from 
its  honesty,  simplicity,  and  calm,  Grayburn  s 
from  its  vigor,  virility  and  determination. 
Both   were    handsome— Lomond    fair   like 
Galahad  going  forth  to  the  quest  with  only 
the  knowledge  of  good,  Grayburn  bronzed 
like  Lancelot  coming  back,  with  the  knowl- 
edge of  good  and  evil. 

A  close  observer  would  have  seen  in  Gray- 
bum  a  man  of  experience  rather  than  of 
feeling,  of  will  rather  than  of  emotion.    The 
deep-set,  steel-blue  eyes  which  rested  on 
Griselda  were  quick  and  keen,  but  they  were 
not  tender.     The  long,  strong,  sinewy,  sun- 
browned  hand  which  held  hers,  closed  with 
the  grip  of  iron  rather  than  with  the  grasp  of 
love     The  penetrating  regard  with  which 
he  looked  at  her  during  the  minutes  when 
they  were  talking  lightly  was  one  of  scrutiny 
rather  than  of  affection. 

Griselda,  on  her  part,  was  too  frankly  glad 
to  see  him  to  do  more  for  the  moment  than 
admire.  She  flattered  him  and  paid  him 
compliments;  she  openly  praised  !»«  iron- 
gray  hair,  his  iron-gray  Vandyke  beard,  his 
careful  dress,  and  his  simple  unconscious- 


ness 
a  roi 

if  it: 
leftl 

H< 
seen 
neve 
gage 
whit 
and  ; 
since 
that 
be  1 
youB 

In 
ing  : 
since 
gun 
toucl 
She] 
the  1 
At  e 
in  hi 
him; 
him  : 
less  i 
was 
eroui 


Ba»«i,i^i^^mm^->mssi)s0miaimmmmsmKii 


DA 


GRISELDA 


as 


d  command,  Gray- 
mquest.  Both  had 
. — Lomond's  from 
1  calm,  Grayburn's 
,nd  determination. 
Lomond  fair  like 
he  quest  with  only 
Grayburn  bronzed 
:k,  with  the  knowl- 

have  seen  in  Gray- 
ace  rather  than  of 
m  of  emotion.  The 
3  which  rested  on 
keen,  but  they  were 
itrong,  sinewy,  sun- 
Id  hers,  closed  with 
an  with  the  grasp  of 

regard  with  which 
g  the  minutes  when 
r  was  one  of  scrutiny 

was  too  frankly  glad 
"or  the  moment  than 
him  and  paid  him 
ily  praised  his  iron- 
r  Vandyke  beard,  his 
simple  unconscious- 


ness of  manner.  It  pleased  her  to  note  that 
a  rough  life  had  not  roughened  him,  and  that 
if  it  had  made  him  a  man  of  adventure,  it  had 
left  him  a  man  of  the  world. 

He  was  forty-seven,  but  looked  older,  and 
seemed  to  Griselda  older  still.  She  had 
never  known  a  time  when  he  was  not  en- 
gaged in  active  affairs  and  connected  with 
white-haired  men  who  were  long  ago  dead 
and  gone.  It  was  only  within  recent  months, 
since  she  had  mingled  more  with  the  world, 
that  she  had  begun  to  see  that  he  might  still 
be  numbered  among  men  comparatively 
young. 

In  her  childhood  she  had  adored  him ;  dur- 
ing her  girlhood  she  had  honored  him ;  but 
since  she  had  become  a  woman  she  had  be- 
gun to  see  that,  closely  as  their  lives  had 
touched,  they  were  strangers  to  each  other. 
She  had  never  seen  much  of  him,  but  during 
the  last  four  years  the  little  had  been  less. 
At  each  meeting  she  found  something  new 
in  him  to  puzzle  her.  She  was  not  afraid  of 
him ;  she  did  not  distrust  him ;  she  only  saw 
him  more  and  more  as  a  man,  and  less  and 
less  as  a  divine,  directing  Providence.  He 
was  always  kind  to  her  but  silent;  gen- 
erous but  perplexing. 


!^as0aii»xMmimmt! 


I. 


I"-: 


I'" 


ri5 


a 


GRISELDA 


"Now  let  us  talk  of  business,"  he  said, 
with  that  suddenness  of  change  to  which 
Griselda  was   accustomed.     "Let  me  see; 
how  long  is  it  since  we  have  met?" 
"Not  quite  six  months." 
"Really?    So  much  has  happened,  in  tlie 
time  that  it  seems  longer.    You  know  I  am 
displeased  with  you?" 
"I  didn't  know.     I  only  guessed  it. 
The  tone  of  his  last  words  caused  Griselda 
to  bridle  a  little,  for  the  weeks  in  which  she 
had    been  her  own   mistress   had  already 
developed  her  sense  of  independence. 

"You  should  not  have  taken  so  many  seri- 
ous steps  without  my  knowledge,"  he  said. 

"I  didn't  know  where  to  write  to  you  after 
you  left  Limping  Creek." 

..fnt^r"  "-"   ciifMild  have  remained  witn 
the  Macleods." 

"That  did  not  suit  my  purposes. 
"And  may  I  venture  to  ask  what  they  are? 
"Certainly.     Catechize  me,  and  you  will 
receive    prompt    and    comprehensive    an- 

^"""Then,  first  of  all  I  should  like  to  know 
how  you  come  to  be  here  at  Lomond  Lodge 
the  last  house  in  England  where  I  should 
expect  to  find  you." 


nr 

The; 
a  W( 
their 
cidei 
Of  c 
was 
to  tl 
daug 


&ia<?iaa>A«ifea*MiBi»aiamiiti»*i 


DA 


GRISELDA 


•7 


usiness,"  he  said, 
change  to  which 
I.  "Let  me  see; 
ve  met?" 

s  happened,  in  the 
You  know  I  am 

r  guessed  it." 
rds  caused  Griselda 
weeks  in  which  she 
itress   had  already 
dependence, 
taken  so  many  seri- 
)wledge,"  he  said, 
to  write  to  you  after 


ive 


remained  with 


purposes." 
ask  what  they  are?" 
e  me,  and  you  will 
comprehensive    an- 

should  like  to  know 
e  at  Lomond  Lodge, 
[and  where  I  should 


"Simply  because  Lady  Glenorchie  asked 
me.  There  are  several  guests;  and  I  am  one 
of  the  number. " 

"Why  did  she  ask  you?" 

"I  am  given  to  understand  that  it  was  not 
for  my  charms,"  she  said  smiling,  "but  be- 
cause Lady  Phillida  Wimpole  begged  for  the 
invitation." 

"And  who  is  Lady  Phillida  Wimpole?" 

"She  is  a  respectable  widow.  She  is  Lord 
Hull's  sister;  and  I  think  her  husband  was 
an  admiral." 

"I  don't  mean  that,"  he  said  impatiently. 
"What  is  she  to  you?  Why  are  you  living 
with  her?  How  did  you  come  to  know 
her?" 

"Through  an  advertisement  in  the  Aforn- 
ing  Post." 

"You  mean?" 

"That  I  grew  very  tired  of  the  Macleods. 
They  are  good  people,  but  impossible.  After 
a  week  or  two  with  them  I  could  endure 
their  society  no  longer.  Then,  just  by  ac 
cident,  I  saw  Lady  Phillida' s  advertisement. 
Of  course,  there  was  no  name  given,  and  it 
was  very  discreetly  worded.  It  was  simply 
to  the  effect  that  a  widowed  lady,  an  earl's 
daughter,  was  willing  to  chaperon  a  young 


""Si 


M 


■^mmm.'iiiiiiemmmmi 


Fill   , 
i' 


'i'>- 


]m 


M'^- 


iini. 


ii 


iRi! 


U  I. 


,0  GRISELDA 

lady;  nothing  more.    One  had  to  write  to 
wme  initials,  in  care  of  a  library     After 
two  or  three  letters  Lady  Philhda  asked  me 
to  call  at  her  house  in  Queen  s  Gate.    We 
became  friends  at  once.     I  liked  her,  and  I 
know  she  likes  me.    Certainly  neither  of  us 
as  yet  has  regretted  our  bargain. 
•  *  Which  was  for  how  much  ?'  * 
••The  money  part  of  it  was  for  a  thousand 
pounds.    At  least  that  was  what  Lady  Phil- 
lida  called  the  premium.     I  also  pay  a  share 
of  the  house-keeping  expenses  when  we  are 
at  Queen's  Gate. " 

•'I  have  heard  of  such  arrangements, 
though  I  never  supposed  them  really  to 
exist  I  must  take  you  out  of  this  trap, 
Griselda,  my  child." 

••It  isn't  a  trap,  Mr.  Graybum.  It  is 
something  I  have  done  knowingly,  and  with 
a  definite  purpose  before  me. " 

••A  purpose  to "  . 

••To   observe,"    she    said   quickly.         1 

wanted  to  know  whether  what  we  thought 

of  was  worth  the  trouble,  whether  the  battle 

was  worth  fighting."  ^„  i,av«. 

••And  may  I  ask  what  opinion  you  have 

^''^Nole,  as  yet.    That  is  why  I  asked  you 


to  C( 

thing 

"I 

"^ 

whol 

this  £ 

it  wc 

why 

want 

the  n 

shoul 

Grs 

agro 

"Y 

are  r 

the  01 

"I 

if  I  < 

here- 

and  c 

been 

modif 

"Tl 

you   ' 

right. 

"Pc 

are  sc 


-  -jsumttm-^nrM  a(m3im<irwm 


e  had  to  write  to 
a  library.  After 
Phillida  asked  me 
ueen's  Gate.  We 
I  liked  her,  and  I 
linly  neither  of  us 
irgain. 
ich?" 

was  for  a  thousand 

IS  what  Lady  Phil- 

I  also  pay  a  share 

enses  when  we  are 

ich  arrangements, 
sd  them  really  to 
L  out  of  this  trap, 

Graybum.      It  is 
nowingly,  and  with 
me. 


said  quickly.  **I 
ST  what  we  thought 
,  whether  the  battle 

at  opinion  you  have 

:  is  why  I  asked  you 


r 


GRISELDA 


39 


to  come  to  England.  There  are  so  many 
things  which  we  must  talk  over  together." 
"I  thought  we  understood  each  other." 
"Never  quite.  That  is  to  say,  I  never  was 
wholly  sure  whether  or  not  I  wanted  to  make 
this  struggle.  Even  if  it  should  not  be  hard 
it  would  certainly  be  unpleasant.  That  is 
why  I  have  come  among  these  people.  I 
wanted  to  know  whether  the  end  was  worth 
the  means,  and  whether  in  the  new  sphere  I 
should  be  happier  than  in  the  old." 

Graybum  smiled  slightly,  notwithstanding 
a  growing  expression  of  anxiety. 

"You  are  abnormally  discreet,  but  you 
are  right  perhaps,"  he  said.  "And  what  is 
the  outcome  of  the  trial?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  that  in  a  sentence,  even 
if  I  can  tell  you  at  all.     I  have  been  happy         / 
here— certainly  happier  than  at  St.  Germain,    { \/ 
and  even  than  at  home.     The  life  I  have 
been  living  is  the  life  I  should  choose— with 

modifications.     But " 

"There  is  no  ^ut.  It  is  the  life  to  which  ) 
you  were  born,  to  which  you  have  a/ 
right."  ~ 

"Possibly.     But  I  was  going  to  say  there 
are  so  many  ways  of  entering  it." 
"You  have  only  one." 


tt0mmamf^»t»!ik- 


-r  ri> 


>  i| 


30 


GR^SELDA 


"  No ;  I  have  at  least  two.  I  might  marry 
Lord  Lomond." 

-I  thought  some  idea  of  the  kmd  might 
have  been  suggested,"  Grayburn  said,  with- 
out any  sign  of  surprise,  "but  of  course  it  is 
not  to  be  entertained."  _ 

"Why  do  you  say,  'of  course'?    I  am  en- 

T;^;bur!:-'ilushed.     When  he  spoke  his 
voice  shook  slightly. 

"Because,  Griselda,  when  you  marry  any 

one,  it  must  be  me." 

"Oh  ••  said  the  girl  softly,  her  eyes  dilat- 
ing, as  she  looked  fixedly  at  her  compamon 
"That  is  a  new  thought  to  me.     I  didn  t 
know  that  you  expected  it.     Why  did  you 
never  tell  me?" 

"I  left  you  to  guess."  ^^ 

"It  was  a  good  deal  to  leave  to  chance. 

"I  have  not  trusted  chance,  my  child,  l 
have  trusted  you.  I  knew  that  when  the 
tnoment  came  we  should  think  alike  As  I 
have  come  to  your  help,  so  you  will  come 

to  mine."  ,   ,    ,    .  4.i,»*?" 

"And  can  I  give  you  no  help  but  that? 
"Listen  to  me,  Griselda,  and  you  will  see. 
I  was  your  father's  friend.     We  were  boys 
together  at  Harrow.    We  shared  in  the  same 


r 

■  pleas 
the  ; 


to  wo 

famil 

Your 

in  a  V 

Sirl  c 

from 

ring 

had  i 

Then 

by  ¥i 

died,  i 

That 

your 

sham( 

could 

"I 
touch 

"T] 
that  j 
resolv 
where 
less  i 
family 
self  t 
thing 
returr 


-'**i»iii»B.i»,wji-<>=».'Ka»!»»«S»*««»^^ 


DA 
ro.     I  might  marry 

of  the  kind  might 
raybum  said,  with- 
"but  of  course  it  is 

;  course'?    1  am  en- 

7hen  he  spoke  his 

hen  you  marry  any 

of  tly,  her  eyes  dilat- 
y  at  her  companion. 
hX,  to  me.  I  didn't 
d  it.    Why  did  you 


0  leave  to  chance." 
chance,  my  child.     I 
£new  that  when  the 
lid  think  alike.     As  I 
ilp,  so  you  will  come 

no  help  but  that?" 
Ida,  and  you  will  see. 
•lend.     We  were  boys 
Ve  shared  in  the  same 


GRISELDA 


31 


pleasures  and  the  same  punishments.  From 
the  peccadilloes  of  school  life  we  passed  on 
to  worse.  Together  we  were  cast  off  by  our 
families.  Together  we  went  to  America. 
Your  father's  marriage  was  but  an  incident 
in  a  wild  career.  Your  mother  was  a  simple 
Sirl  of  humble  birth  who  had  followed  him 
from  Scotland,  with  nothing  but  a  wedding 
ring  to  keep  him  from  forgetting  her  as  he 
had  forgotten  many  another  of  her  kind. 
Then  three  hard,  straight  blows  were  dealt 
by  Fate  in  quick  succession.  Your  father 
died,  and  you  know  the  manner  of  his  death. 
That  night  you  were  born.  Before  morning 
your  mother,  broken  with  suffering  and 
shame,  had  gone  to  the  only  refuge  one 
could  wish  her. ' ' 

"I  know  all  that,"  the  girl  said,  with  a 
touch  of  proud  impatience. 

"True;  but  what  you  don't  know  is  this, 
that  from  that  moment  I  was  changed.  I 
resolved  that  life  should  never  lead  me 
where  it  had  brought  your  father.  Friend- 
less in  a  strange  land,  disowned  by  my 
family  and  disgraced  by  my  past,  I  set  my- 
self to  retrace  my  steps,  to  win  back  some- 
thing of  what  I  had  lost.  I  resolved  to 
return  to  my  own  country  able  to  recon- 


it0$Ki<i>l|nMa<« 


] 


V 


i' 


I 

II!  I 


3* 


GRISELDA 


quer  the  position  from  which  I  had  been 

expelled."  ^  ^        , 

"And  you  have  done  so  nobly  and  bravely. 
Now  you  can  have  what  you  have  worked 
for  without  me.  I  have  counted  for  nothmg 
in  your  plans. " 

"That  was  so  at  first.    You  did  count  for 
nothing  when  I  began.     I  took  you  because 
you  were  your  father's  child,  and  because 
you  had  no  one  to  look  to  but  me.     I  didn't 
want  you  then;  you  were  a  burden  to  me, 
but  I  could  not  cast  you  off.     Then,  little  by 
little,  I  began  to  see  that  in  the  new  life  I 
had  planned  you  might  give  me  more  help 
than  any  one.    I  fed  you,  clothed  you,  taught 
you  with  that  end  in  view.     I  took  what 
money  your  father  left  you  and  made  it 
more.    I  made  you  rich  in  growing  rich  my- 
self.    I  kept  all  your  father's  secrets  with 
the  intention  to  benefit  not  only  myself  but 
you.      The  time  has  come  for  us  to  act 
together,  to   enjoy   together  what  we— at 
least  I— have  worked  for." 

"Then   into  your  designs  love  has  not 

entered?"  . 

"Yes,  largely.   I  have  loved  you,  Gnselda; 
■    you  must  know  that.    We  could  not  have 
lived  together  as  we  have  done,  you  grow 


mg  up  i 
tion." 

"The 

"Scan 
with  a  si 

"lam 
trying  t( 
amazemi 
which  o: 
love  but 

"If  y< 
that  it  is 

"I  sh( 
some  am 

"We  a 
have  cer 
others, 
ing  as  01 

"I  cai 
girl  said 
pen,  thai 

"You 
don't  kn 

"I  knc 
is  quite  ( 

"Whic 

"I  ouj 
else." 


■«a*«>s«t«fi6Ma,*iit*-n«***ii««»;^to«*^^  - 


DA 

rhich  I  had  been 

lobly  and  bravely. 

you  have  worked 

mnted  for  nothing 

You  did  count  for 
[  took  you  because 
:hild,  and  because 
but  me.     I  didn't 
e  a  burden  to  me, 
I.     Then,  little  by 
It  in  the  new  life  I 
give  me  more  help 
clothed  you,  taught 
ew.     I  took  what 
you  and  made  it 
a  growing  rich  my- 
ther's  secrets  with 
lot  only  myself  but 
(me  for  us  to  act 
!ther  what  we— at 

igfns  love  has  not 

loved  you,  Griselda; 
Ve  could  not  have 
ve  done,  you  grow- 


GRISELDA 


33 


ing  up  and  I  growing  old,  without  affec- 
tion." 

"The  affection  of  father  and  child." 

"Scarcely  that.     But "    He  broke  oflE 

with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"I  am  to  understand,  then,"  said  Griselda, 
trying  to  speak  calmly  and  to  conceal  her 
amazement,  "that  you  propose  a  marriage 
which  on  both  sides  would  be  one  of  some 
love  but  more  ambition." 

"If  you  choose  to  put  it  so.  I  don't  say 
that  it  is  just. ' ' 

"I  should  have  preferred  a  marriage  of 
some  ambition  and  more  love. " 

"We  are  strangely  situated,  my  child.  You 
have  certain  ends  to  gain,  and  I  have  certain 
others.  We  can  be  surest  of  success  in  act- 
ing as  one." 

"I  can't  marry  you,  Mr.  Gray  burn,"  the 
girl  said  quietly.  "Whatever  else  may  hap- 
pen, that  never  will." 

"You  think  so  now,  Griselda,  because  you 
don't  know  all  the  reasons  for  it." 

"I  know  one  against  it,  however;  one  that 
is  quite  decisive." 

"Which  is?"  ^ 

"I  ought  to  tell  you.  I  care  for  some  one 
else." 


34 


GRISELDA 


It  came." 


"This  young  man  here?" 

"Yes." 

"You  have  chosen  badly." 

"I  have  not  chosen  at  all. 

"And  he ?" 

"He  feels  as  I  do."  •     ^ 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  very  softly,  be- 
cause it  will  mean  so  much  unhappiness.  It 
can  never  come  to  anything." 

"Perhaps  not.  But  I  don't  mind  the  un- 
happiness.    I  would  rather  have  that  than 

not  have "  • 

"I  see  "  he  interrupted,  in  a  tone  that 
was  not  unkindly.  "You  are  at  the  age 
which  people  call  romantic.  We  all  pass 
through  it  and  come  out  into  somethmg 

else."  ^      „ 

"I  would  rather  not  live  till  then. 
"Unhappily  one  must.  You  will  outlive 
this  pretty  period  as  you  have  outlived  the 
time  when  you  were  such  a  sweet  little  vi- 
sion on  the  rocks  at  home-  '  n  long  curls  and 
a  short  frock.  But  don't  forget  that  each 
stage  has  its  charms.  There  are  compensa- 
tions even  in  growing  old." 

"I  am  a  woman  now " 

"A  very  young  one." 

"But   still    a   woman.     Childhood    is  a 


growth, 
hood  chi 
hood,  ev 
and  hare 
"But  i 
"Wha 
one  you 
"As   ; 
speak  w 
sure." 
"On 
this." 
"On 
every  y< 
every  d 
basing 
cloud  b 
"Iha 
even  if 
"Anc 
irrepan 
"lar 
"Inl 
"lac 
"Yoi 
more  1 
your  fs 
you;  a 


Miimmtimm0iii^)>ii'^' 


DA 


GRISELDA 


1$ 


11.    It  came. 


,  very  softly,  "be- 
ll unhappiness.    It  1 

don't  mind  the  un- 
aer  have  that  than  I 

id,  in  a  tone  that 
3U  are  at  the  age 
ntic.  We  all  pass 
lUt  into  something 

;e  till  then." 
;.  You  will  outlive 
»u  have  outlived  the 
ich  a  sweet  little  vi- 
e-  '  a  long  curls  and 
ti't  forget  that  each 
?here  are  compensa- 
d." 


1.     Childhood    is  a 


growth,  womanhood  a  condition.  In  child- 
hood change  is  quick  and  easy;  in  woman- 
hood, even  in  young  womanhood,  it  is  slow 

and  hard." 

"But  still  it  comes." 

"Whatever  other  change  may  come,  the 
one  you  speak  of  never  will.' 

"As  you  grow  older  you  will  learn  to 
speak  with  less  decision;   you  will  be  less 

sure." 
"On  other  points,   perhaps,  but  not  on 

this." 

"On  all.     You    will    see.     At  your  age 
every  year  is  one  of  progress;  every  month 
every  day,  makes  clearer  the  necessity  of 
basing  the  castle  of  our  happiness  not  on 
cloud  but  on  the  solid  earth. " 

"I  have  the  right  to  use  my  own  judgment, 
even  if  it  were  wrong." 

"And  I  have  the  right  to  save  you  from 
irreparable  mistake." 

"I  am  free " 

"In  law,  but  not  in  duty." 

"I  admit  I  owe  you  gratitude." 

"You  owe  me  everything.  You  owe  me 
more  than  if  I  had  been  your  brother  or 
your  father.  All  that  you  have  I  have  given 
you;  all  that  you  are  I  have  made  you.  You 


fcr 


'th 


If.'.*' 
'ir  ' 


3« 


GRISELDA 


come  here  into  the  haughtiest  society  in  the 
world,  among  people  who  treat  princes  as 
little  more  than  their  equals,  and  you  take 
your   natural   place    among   them.      It    is 
because  I  have  given  you  the  power.   If  you 
are  beautiful  it  is  because  I  have  nourished 
you-  if  you  are  clever  it  is  because  I  have 
traiied  you;   if  you  are  rich  it  is  because  I 
have  worked  for  you.     If  you  are  able  at 
this  moment  to  take  this  tone  of  independ- 
ence  it  is  because  I  have  given  you  the 
means.     And,  as  you  know,  there  is  more 
before  you  than  anything  to  which  you  have 
attained;   only  it  is  I  who  alone  have  the 
power  to  bestow  it  on  you.    Griselda,  my 
child,  you  belong  to  me  as  though  you  were 
my  own  creation.    Your  good  sense  itself 
must  tell  you  so." 

"I  admit  all  your  claims  but  one.  1  am 
ready  to  give  my  life  to  you  in  love  and 

service." 
"But  not  in  marriage?" 

"Not  in  marriage." 

"I  don't  care  for  love ;  I  am  in  no  need  of 
service;  marriage  is  the  only  means  by 
which  you  can  reward  me  for  all  that  I  have 

done."  ., 

"You  should  not  have  saved  my  Ute  u 


you  wer 

it." 

"It  ws 

"But: 

"List< 

her  han< 

me  ung< 

stand. 

must  b< 

sufferin] 

conflict 

"Ian 

"Oh, 

"If  s 

"If   : 

should 

which  \ 

you." 

"Wh 

"Th< 

name  a 

i  you  wil 

"Arc 

"So( 

"An( 

I  ing  old 

"As 

I  tional. ' 


mmmmmi^^^mm^mti^^fitm  I 


>A 

iest  society  in  the 
)  treat  princes  as 
lals,  and  you  take 
ag   them.      It    is 
;he  power.   If  you 
1 1  have  nourished 
is  because  I  have 
rich  it  is  because  I 
E  you  are  able  at 
tone  of  independ- 
ve  given  you  the 
ow,  there  is  more 
to  which  you  have 
ho  alone  have  the 
ou,    Griselda,  my 
,s  though  you  were 
•  good  sense  itself 

tns  but  one.     I  am 
o  you  in  love  and 


I  am  in  no  need  of 
le  only  means  by 
e  for  all  that  I  have 

e  saved  my  life  if 


GRISELDA 


37 


you 
it.' 


were  going  to  put  such  a  price  upon 


"It  was  worth  it  to  me." 

"But  not  tome.' 

"Listen  to  me,  Griselda,"  he  said,  taking 
her  hand  in  his.  "I  don't  want  you  to  think 
me  ungenerous,  but  I  must  make  you  under- 
stand. I  don't  want  to  be  brutal,  but  I 
must  be  frank.  I  want  to  save  you  from 
suffering,  and  so  I  would  save  you  from  any 
conflict  of  your  will  with  mine." 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  it" 

"Oh,  yes  you  are." 

"If  so,  only  because  of  my  love  for  you." 

"If   you   would  but  accept  the  fact  we 

should  both  escape  a  great  deal  of  struggle 

which  will  be  painful  to  me,  and  fruitless  to 

you." 

"What  fact  must  I  accept?" 

"The  fact  that  on  the  day  I  choose  to 
name  and  in  whatever  place  may  please  me, 
i  you  will  be  ready  to  become  my  wife. " 

"Are  you  so  sure?" 

"So  sure." 

"And  yet  you  sftid  just  now  that  in  grow- 
ing older  one  speaks  with  less  decision." 

"As  a  rule.  Some  occasions  are  excep- 
tional." 


jm!m«M0b»- 


'li-  (. 


^ 


GRISELDA 


"I  do  not  think  this  one. " 
"There  is  no  doubt  as  to  who  will  be  the 
victor  when  the  contestants  are  matched 

unequally."  .      ,  , 

••So  one  would  have  said  in  the  case  of 

David  and  Goliath. " 

"Life  is  less  of  a  battle  than  of  a  game. 
The  prize  goes  not  to  the  bravest,  but  to  the 
most  skilled."  „ 

"It  is  a  game  which  I  could  play. 

"But  to  which  you  have  never  yet  put 

your  hand. " 

"I  could  learn."  ^ 

•'There  are  no  rules.     There  is  only  ex- 
perience." 

'•I  should  be  cautious." 

'  •  But  I  unscrupulous. '  * 

"I  should  give  you  that  advantage  and 

win." 

Grayburn  laughed. 

'•I  like  your  spirit,"  he  said.       You  re- 
tr^ind  me  of  your  father.     I«  t«^^«  *°/°2 , 
your  pluck  will  stand  you  in  good  stead.   But 
[his  game  is  to  be  mine.     I  am  more  than  | 
your  match,  as  you  will  see.     But  I  am  wi«. 
ing  to  make  you  a  proposition.     I  will  be| 

generous." 

"Justice  is  all  I  ask." 


"Yo 

insist 
this  co; 
my  ri{ 
to  me 
subjec 
game 
with  i: 
victor. 

"I   A 
plied, 
in  the 
chase, 
have   I 
stand 
discusi 

"I  a 
promp 
You  ki 
the  res 

•'Yo 
must  t 

"Poi 
You  m 
than  y 

"I  1 
I  only  d 

"Th 


„mit)i^m«iiitniii&mii^^^'^ 


5A 


GRISELDA 


39 


o  who  will  be  the 
ints  are  matched 

aid  in  the  case  of 

ie  than  of  a  game, 
bravest,  but  to  the 

ould  play." 

ive  never  yet  put 


There  is  only  ex- 


hat  advantage  and 


he  said.  "You  re- 
r.  In  time  to  come 
II  in  good  stead.  But 
le.  I  am  more  than 
see.  But  I  am  will- 
iposition.     I  will  be 


"You  shall  have  it  and  more.  I  will  not 
insist  on  any  of  the  points  I  have  pressed  in 
this  conversation.  I  shall  waive  what  I  think 
my  rights,  and  shall  overlook  what  seems 
to  me  your  duty.  We  shall  not  discuss  the 
subject  further.  We  shall  only  play  the 
game  in  silence,  you  with  your  resources,  I 
with  mine;  and  the  prize  shall  go  to  the 
victor." 

"I  will  not  accept  your  terms,"  she  re- 
plied, with  dignity.  "I  will  not  put  myself 
in  the  position  of  a  hunted  creature  eluding 
chase,  or  a  plotter  evading  counter-plot.  I 
have  given  you  my  answer.  I  can  only 
stand  by  it.  I  do  not  see  how  any  further 
discussion  can  make  clearer  the  situation." 

"I  agree  with  you  there,"  Grayburn  said 
promptly.  "I  think  we  have  talked  enough. 
You  know  my  mind,  and  I  know  yours.  For 
the  rest  we  had  better  wait." 

"You  have  made  me  very  unhappy.  You 
1  must  be  aware  of  that. ' ' 

"Possibly,  my  child;  but  that  will  pass. 
I  You  must  try  not  to  be  more  angry  with  me 
[than  you  can  help." 

"I  love  you  too  much  to  be  angry;  I  am 
I  only  deeply  hurt. ' ' 

"The  worst  of  wounds  will  heal." 


^  GRISELDA 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  she  followed  his 

example.  ,,, 

"Don't  you  think  I  ought  to  go  away? 

he  asked,  "and  if  so,  when  shall  I  see  you 

again?    I  am  at  the  hotel." 
"You  can't  go  till  after  you  have  seen  my 

friends.     Lady  Glenorchie  is  sure  to  be  on 

the  lawn  or  in  the  garden.     It  is  almost  tea- 

time." 

"Ought  I  to  meet  her?" 
V-  "You  must." 

"Then  I  shall  not  shrink  from  duty. 

"I  want  you  to  see  Lady  Phillida,  too." 

"I  shall  feel  like  Perseus  coming  to  deliver 
Andromeda  from  the  dragon." 

"She  is  not  a  dragon,  as  you  will  find. 

"I  know  her  already."  Grayburn  said, 
laughing,  as  they  moved  towards  the  door; 
"the  widowed  lady,  an  earVs  daughter,  will- 
ing to  chaperon  a  young  girl." 

"Wait." 

"Willingly.    I  could  have  waited  longer. " 

Griselda  smiled,  but  said  nothing.  She 
was  excited  by  the  fact  that  her  will  was  pit- 
ted against  his.  She  had  wild  blood  in  her 
veins,  and  a  sense  of  struggle  brought  with 
it  something  of  elation.  Besides,  she  was 
almost  glad  that  her  very  desperation  was 


drivit 
dared 
would 


a  she  followed  his 

ght  to  go  away?" 
m  shall  I  see  you 

you  have  seen  my 

i  is  sure  to  be  on 

It  is  almost  tea- 


GRISELDA 


m^ 


driving  her  into  the  haven  where  she  scarcely 
dared  to  seek  a  refuge,  but  in  which  she 
would  gladly  be. 


k  from  duty." 
y  Phillida,  too." 
is  coming  to  deliver 
ron." 

,s  you  will  find." 
,"   Grayburn  said, 
1  towards  the  door; 
irVs  daughter,  will- 
girl." 

ive  waited  longer." 
said  nothing.  She 
hat  her  will  was  pit- 
id  wild  blood  in  her 
ruggle  brought  with 
Besides,  she  was 
ery  desperation  was 


.  tjjggisnE^" 


•Ill 


After  Miss  Grant  had  left  him  Lord  Lom- 
ond reseated  himself  in  his  wicker  chair  and 
fell  into  a  deep  reverie. 

From  the  oriel  window  of  her  sitting-room 
his  mother  watched  him  anxiously.  A 
mingling  of  pain  and  anger  was  rising  in  her 
heart— of  pain  because  her  only  son  was  on 
the  eve  of  his  first  suffering,  of  anger  that 
such  mischance  as  she  now  suspected  should 
touch  her  house  or  her. 

When  Griselda  Grant  had  come  to  Lomond 
Lodge,  Lady  Glenorchie  had  liked  her.  She 
was  only  another  pretty  girl  whom  Phillida 
Wimpole  had  taken  under  her  protection, 
and  Lady  Glenorchie  was  fond  of  freshness 
and  beauty  about  her,  as  she  was  of  flow- 
ers and  sunshine.  Living  out  of  the  noisy 
world,  priding  herself  on  being  a  great 
country  lady,  changing  her  abode  only  from 
Rusthall  Court  to  Glenorchie  Castle,  and 
from  Glenorchie  Castle  back  to  Rusthall 
Court,  she  nevertheless  enjoyed  the  breath 
of  London  air  which  her  son  and  her  son's 


GRISELDA 


H 


t  him  Lord  Lom- 
wicker  chair  and 

f  her  sitting-room 
I  anxiously.  A 
r  was  rising  in  her 
r  only  son  was  on 
ing,  of  anger  that 
'  suspected  should 

i  come  to  Lomond 
id  liked  her.  She 
firl  whom  Phillida 
;r  her  protection, 
;  fond  of  freshness 

she  was  of  flow- 
j  out  of  the  noisy 
n  being  a  great 
ir  abode  only  from 
rchie  Castle,  and 
back  to  Rusthall 
njoyed  the  breath 

son  and  her  son's 


friends  brought  into  her  tranquil  life.  She 
would  not  go  to  the  world,  but  she  liked  to 
have  the  world  come  to  her.  She  wanted 
to  be  sought  out  and  honored  by  those  whom 
she  herself  might  perhaps  neither  have  hon- 
ored nor  sought  out.  She  opened  her  doors 
with  discreet  and  gentle  welcome  to  the  new, 
the  crude,  and  the  clever,  as  well  as  to  the 
ftately  and  the  old.  She  did  so  somewhat 
as  the  Queen  gathers  around  her  royal  table 
princes,  peers,  and  politicians,  herself  too 
great  to  make  distinctions  among  those  of 
lesser  rank,  permitting  them  to  approach 
her,  but  remaining  in  her  own  thought  and 
person  perceptibly  apart. 

Lady  Glenorchie  had  accepted  Griselda 
Grant  as  she  had  accepted  a  hundred  other 
girls.  She  had  gone  further  still.  She  had 
found  in  the  girl  something  new  and  sympa- 
thetic— a  rare  union  of  those  virtues  which 
Lady  Glenorchie  most  commended,  and 
which  she  feared  were  growing  out  of  date — 
beauty  going  with  high-breeding,  self-reli- 
ance with  gentleness,  self-respect  with  def- 
erence to  others,  intelligence  with  sweetness, 
and  fastidious  refinement  with  simplicity. 
Griselda's  dark  hair,  dark  eyes,  and  rich, 
creamy  complexion  had  pleased  Lady  Glen- 


^^  GRISELDA 

orchie  from  the  very  -ntrast  they  present^^^ 
to  what  had  been  at  the  same  age  her  owr. 

•ToMhrfirst  few  days  of  her  visit  at  Lom 
end  Lodge  Griselda  was  very  happy.    She 
had  met^ith  instant  favor,  and  hoped  to 
win  affection.      Then  the  manner  of  her 
Cess  suddenly  changed;    .tbe^am^^^^^^ 

merely  cold  but  hostile.      Gnselda  was 

first  surprised  and  then  indignant. 

* taay    Gl-orchie    on  her  P-"  -»  - 

happy.     She  had  had  confidence  that  Lorn 

S  would  never  deal  "f  «y  tdencl^^l 
•„H  Place  She  had  that  confidence  stm, 
rnt'v;uh\lannln.P^hiUtiesof^s^..e 

"2d:frSdrPrmlSa.s''a^M  when 
SS;  oreiTrcWe  began  to  detect  in  het^s 
^2er  towards  Miss  Grant  ^at  ™We  to"* 
S  intimacy  which  must  have  dated  from  a 
;r  Tc^^^iinunce  than  that  o£  w».     he 

S  whom  she  had  thought  herseftoo  to 
removed  for  conftict.     The  t^™^  ^ 
was  quick  to  perceive  and  resent  it 


Stung 

respe( 

"Lj 

"thin 

her    £ 

thoug 

Anc 

was  < 

the  re 

all,  is 

peopl 

crede 

is  inc 

sees  t 

him, 

chara 

Bu 

not  n 

barel 

orchi 

subje 

the  < 

recei' 

tilitie 

whic 

situa 

whih 

Gran 


GRISELDA 


it  they  presented 
ime  age  her  owti 

her  visit  at  Lom- 
ery  happy.  She 
jr,  and  hoped  to 

manner  of  her 
i;    it  became  not 

Griselda  was  at 
lignant. 
ler  part  was  not 
fidence  that  Lom- 
itly  with  his  name 
.t  confidence  still, 
Dilities  of  struggle 
'.    A  week  had  not 
ia's  arrival,  when 
)  detect  in  her  son's 
nt  that  subtle  touch 

have  dated  from  a 
I  that  of  which  the 
,.     For  almost  the 
ady  Glenorchie  was 
ntagonism  between  ^ 
f  that  outside  world 
>ught  herself  too  far  | 
The  American  girl 

and  resent  it.     It 


stung  her  pride  and  humiliated  her  self- 
respect. 

"Lady  Glenorchie,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"thinks  me  an  adventuress,  ready  to  ensnare 
her  son.  How  dare  she  have  such  a 
thought!" 

And  afterwards,  with  the  fairness  which 
was  one  of  her  characteristics,  would  come 
the  reflection,  "Why  should  she  not?  After 
all,  is  she  not  justified?  I  come  among  these 
people  from  no  one  knows  where,  giving  no 
credentials.  Lady  Phillida's  account  of  me 
is  inconsequent  and  confused.  This  lady 
sees  that  her  son  loves  me.  Were  I  to  marry 
him,  could  I  do  so  otherwise  than  in  the 
character  which  she  ascribes  to  me?" 

But  reason  as  she  would,  the  girl  could 
not  meekly  bend  to  the  constant,  courteous, 
barely  perceptible  indications  of  Lady  Glen- 
orchie's  ill-opinion  to  which  she  was  daily 
subjected.  A  word,  a  gesture,  a  quiver  of 
the  eyelids,  on  the  one  side  never  failed  to 
receive  its  response  from  the  other.  Hos- 
tilities were  in  that  secret,  diplomatic  stage 
which  precedes  the  open  rupture,  but  the 
situation  was  strained  as  far  as  it  could  be, 
while  remaining  generally  unobserved.  Miss 
Grant  bad  begged  Lady  Phillida  to  returA 


I   ! 

!    1 


I  il 


46 


GRISELDA 


to  London,  and  Lady  Glenorcljie  began  to 
feel  that  she  must  do  the  same.  As  she 
watched  her  son  from  her  sitting-r6om  win- 
dow she  had  the  inspiration  to  consult  him 
on  the  subject.  This  would  be  to  hasten  the 
battle,  but  it  might  lead  perhaps  to  victory; 
in  any  case  it  would  be  better  than  suspense. 
Lady  Glenorchie  took  a  book  and  her  work- 
bag  and  went  down  stairs. 

Her  appearance  on  the    terrace    roused 
Lord  Lomond  from  his  reverie.     He  rose  at 
once    and   crossed   the  lawn  towards  her, 
meeting  her  as  she  came  down  the  steps. 
Both  in  beauty  and  bearing,  mother  and  son 
were  matched— he  long  and  strong  of  limb, 
and  frank    and   fearless  of  face;    she    the 
embodiment  of    ageing    elegance,  slender, 
graceful,  gracious,  a  being  who  had  never 
known  any  struggle  for  existence  nor  any 
competition  for  success,  to  whom  all  that  is 
lofty  and  lovely  in  life  had  come  as  a  matter 
of  course.    Lady  Glenorchie  was  not  modern ; 
she  might  have  been  a  Cosway  beauty  grow- 
ing old.    Her  mental  horizon  was  not  a  wide 
one,  but  it  was  clear  and  picturesque.     Her 
conception  of  life   was  that  of  a  round  of 
high  duties  worthily  performed.     The  men 
of  her  family  had  fought  for  their  country, 


5A 


GRISELDA 


# 


snorcLie  began  to 
e  same.  As  she 
sitting-r6om  win- 
ion  to  consult  him 
d  be  to  hasten  the 
terhaps  to  victory; 
;ter  than  suspense, 
ook  and  her  work- 

e    terrace    roused 
verie.     He  rose  at 
iwn  towards  her, 
e  down  the  steps, 
.g,  mother  and  son 
ind  strong  of  limb, 
of  face;    she    the 
elegance,  slender, 
ng  who  had  never 
existence  nor  any 
0  whom  all  that  is 
d  come  as  a  matter 
ie  was  not  modern; 
)sway  beauty  grow- 
zon  was  not  a  wide 
picturesque.     Her 
that  of  a  round  of 
formed.     The  men 
t  for  their  country, 


and  their  names  were  on  every  page  of  the 
history  of  the  Black  Watch ;  the  women  had 
married  Scotch  lords  and  lairds,  their  equals 
in  birth  and  breeding.     The  base,  the  com- 
mon, the  sordid,  had  always  been  removed 
from  them ;  they  had  lived  on  a  high  level, 
and  left  behind  them  a  legacy  of  pride. 
Lady  Glenorchie  had  entered  into  it,  trans- 
mitting it  to  her  son.     It  was  evident  in  all 
her  actions;  it   underlay  her  gentleness  of 
[manner  and  modesty  of  speech;  it  was  in 
1  the  kindliness  of  her  eyes,  and  the  sweetness 
of  her  smile ;  it  seemed  to  emanate  from  the 
very  laces  and  silks  of  her  attire,  and  from 
the  gems  upon  her  small   white  hands;  it 
was    in   the   courteous  condescension  with 
which  she  welcomed  her  son's  newest  friend, 
las  well  as  in  the  homage  with  which  she 
I  bent  before  the  Queen — a  dominant,  uncon- 
jquerable,  illimitable  pride  of  race  and  place 
land    personal    circumstance,    which    could 
Iscarcely  imagine  a  slight  upon  itself,  and 
jfound  it  hard  to  admit  an  equal. 

As  Lomond  held  out  his  hand  to  take  her 
Ibag  and  book  Lady  Glenorchie  received  the 
lattention  v/ith  a  smile  which  seemed  at  once 
pe  acceptance  and  acknowledgment  of 
tiomage. 


,V:.,| 


:!!tB0t>^" 


48 


GRISELDA 


"I  came  out,  Nigel,"  she  said,  as  she 
walked  with  him  across  the  lawn  to  the  shady 
corner  he  had  just  left,  "because  I  saw  you 

were  alone."  ^t.  .  ..    v.i 

"I'm    glad   you've   come,  mother,      ne 

replied.     "We  see  so  little  of  each  other  | 

when  the  house  is  full. " 
"It's  a  little  too  full,  just  now,"  she  said 

"Don't  you  think  so?"  ^ 

"We  have  room  for  more,  however,    he 

answered,  moving  for  her  a  chair  into  the  I 

shadow  of  the  group  of  pines. 

He  put  a  footstool  at  her  feet,  and  ar- 
ranged  her  long  scarf  of  white  lace  around 
her  sh.-'lera.  Then  he  placed  at  her  side 
a  tabl-  i  er  work  bag  and  her  book. 
ladyC  .  V.  lie's  delicate  beauty  seemed  to 
commanu  these  small  acts  of  service,  as  a 
fragile  work  of  art  calls  for  care. 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  quantity  so  much 
as  of  quality,"  she  said  as  her  white  jeweled 
fingers  opened  slowly  the  golden  fastening 
of  the  bright-colored  silken  bag.  "Personal 
qualities  are  like  certain  perfumes.  They 
are  subtle,  but  all  pervading." 

Lady  Glenorchie's  emphasis  was  as  fine  as 
the  fading  pink  on  her  cheek,  or  the  old  lacel 
on  her  shoulders.     All  three  were  equally 


exquisi 
equallji 
"Do 
asked,  i 
the  pu 
house, 
artist,  j 
And  1 
on. 

"Moi 

and  an 

un  geni 

trop." 

"Oh, 

said  Lc 

enquiri 

can't  b( 

"No, 

iGlenon 

|of  embi 

"Not 

"Cer 

"Noi 

"Not 

"The 

"I  n 

lenon 

'that 


,DA 

'  she  said,  as  she 
be  lawn  to  the  shady 
"because  I  saw  you 

ome,  mother,"  he 
ittle  of  each  other 

just  now,"  she  said 

more,  however,"  he 
aer  a  chair  into  thej 
pines, 
it  her  feet,  and  ar-l 
of  white  lace  around 
le  placed  at  her  side 
bag  and  her  book.! 
ate  beauty  seemed  to 
acts  of  service,  as  a 
for  care. 

of  quantity  so  much 
as  her  white  jeweled 
the  golden  fastening 
Ikenbag.  "Personal 
ain  perfumes.    They| 

ading." 
nphasis  was  as  fine  as 
cheek,  or  the  old  lace 
.1  three  were  equally 


GRISELDA 


49 


exquisite    in  their  different   natures,    and 
equally  perceptible. 

•'Do  you  mean  Marignan?"  Lomond 
asked,  as  he  sat  down.  "He  is  a  little  before 
the  public  eye,  so  to  speak,  when  he  is  in  a 
house.  But  then,  he  is  a  Frenchman  and  an 
artist,  so  that  he  can't  be  just  like  ourselves. 
And  besides,  Lady  Phillida  draws  him 
t>n. 

"Monsieur  de  Marignan  is  a  Frenchman 
I  and  an  artist,  and  you  might  also  have  added, 
\un gentilhomme^  He  could  nerve  be  de 
\trop." 

'Oh,  there  is  some  one  who  is  de  tropt" 
I  said  Lomond,  with  a  slight  start  and  looking 
enquiringly  at  his  mother.  "Who  is  it?  It 
[can't  be  Waynflete?" 

'No,  it  is  not  Mr.  Waynflete,"  said  Lady 
iGlenorchie,  examining  critically  the  piece 
|of  embroidery  on  which  she  was  at  work. 

'Nor  Miss  Dumbleton?" 

'Certainly  not. " 

'Nor  Lady  Phillidar' 

'Not  precisely.' 

"Then  it  is  precisely " 

'I  must  not  let  you  think,"  said  Lady 
jlenorchie,  slightly  shifting  her  ground, 
"that  I  object  personally  to  any  of  our 


so 


GRISELDA 


I   am  not  annoyed;    I    am    only 


guests. 

anxious."  i,     v 

"On  whose  account,  motner? 

"Miss  Grant's." 

"And  why?"  ^  j«^„. 

Lord  Lomond's  voice  was  soft  and  deep , 
his  attitude,  as  he  leaned  across  the  table 
towards  his  mother,  impressively  still. 

"I  am  anxious,"  Lady  Glenorchie  said 
tranquilly,  choosing  among  her  many- 
colored  silken  threads,  "that  there  should 
be  no  misunderstandings.  ,It  is  natural  for 
so  young  a  girl  to  take  little  attentions  tha 
signify  nothing  as  meaning  a  great  deal 

more."  ,  ^^t" 

' '  Do  you  mean  attentions  from  me  f 
"Yes,  Nigel.     It  could  be  neither  for  her 

happiness  nor  yours  if  false  ambitions 

"On  whose  part?" 

"On  hers,  naturally." 

"I  don't  think  she  has  any." 

"But  if  she  had?  if  she  were  to  entertain 

them?    For  a  girl  of   her   class   it    could 

only ^, 

"What  class,  mother?' 

"Don't  ask  me  to  define  what  must  be 
evident  of  itself,  Nigel.  I  hold  no  brief 
against  her.     I  am  speaking  for  her  good 


selv 


DA 

,yed;    I    am    only 

other?"  ' 


was  soft  and  deep; 
ed  across  the  table 
ressively  still, 
iy  Glenorchie  said 
.mong  her  many- 
"that  there  should 
rs.  .It  is  natural  for 
little  attentions  that 
aning  a  great  deal 

ions  from  me?" 

d  be  neither  for  her  , 

false  ambitions " 


IS  any. 

she  were  to  entertain 
her   class   it    could 

?" 

define  what  must  be 
el.  I  hold  no  brief 
peaking  for  her  good. 


GRISELDA  m 

And  I  re-Deat  that  she  might  easily  under- 
stand your  manner  towards  her  to  mean 
what    you    and    I    know    it   never    could 

mean." 

Lomond  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  for 

a  moment  closed  his  eyes.    In  his  expression 

there  was  something  of  pain,  something  of 

determination.  , 

"Suppose,"  he  said,  after  a  few  moments 

silence,  looking  towards  his  mother,  but  not 

changing  his  position— "I  only  say  suppose, 

—Miss  Grant  and  I  were  to  wish  to  marry?" 

"You  would  not  marry  a— a— a  foreigner, 

Nigel,  I  hope." 

"Why  not?    The  Duke  of  Perthshire  mar- 
ried a  foreigner. " 
"Yes;   a  Colonna.     That  is  scarcely  the 

same  thing." 
"And  Lord  Oban." 
"Yes;  a  Windisch-Gratz. " 
"And  Lord  Banavie." 
"A    Castellane.      None   of    these   were 

Americans. 

"But  do  you  object  to  Americans  in  them- 
selves, all  and  singly?" 

"No,  of  course  not.  Lady  Skye  is  an 
American;  Mrs.  Murray  of  Invermenzies  is 
another.     These  were  women  of  position  in 


-  il 


s» 


GRISELDA 


their  own  land  before  they  became  so  in 

ours." 

"And  Miss  Grant  is  a  lady.    You  can't 
refuse  to  admit  that,  mother," 

"Undoubtedly  a  lady.     Your  Solicitor's 
daughter,  too,  is  a  lady;   only  not  such  a 
lady  as  you  should  marry.     I  know  you  are 
not  thinking  of  it;  but  since  you  have  raised 
the  question  I  discuss  it." 
"But  if  I  were  thinking  of  it?" 
•  It  would  be  to  decide  against  it." 
"And  if  I  did  not?" 

"Are  these  questions  to  any  purpose?" 
she  asked,  turning  for  the  first  time  from  her 
work,  and  looking  at  him  with  a  smile  which 
seemed  to  take  from  her  words  their  haugh- 
tiness of  tone.  "Do  we  not  both  know  that 
Lomond  of  Tulloch  and  Glenorchie  of  Glen- 
orchie  could  never  do  anything  unworthy  of 
his  name?" 

"I  hope  so,"  he  responded,  with  a  pride 
equal  to  her  own.  ' '  May  there  not,  however, 
be  a  question  as  to  what  is  unworthy,  and 
what  is  not?" 

"Never  in  my  mind,  and,  I  think,  never  in 
yours.  Those  born  in  a  certain  rank 
have  an  instinctive  sense  of  dignity  and 
honor." 


lida  s 
conne( 


)  ( 


-DA 

they  became  so  in 

a  lady.    You  can't 

ther." 

Your  Solicitor's 

r;   only  not  such  a 

y.     I  know  you  are 

ince  you  have  raised 
•  » 

ig  of  it?" 
i  against  it." 

J  to  any  purpose?" 
e  first  time  from  her 
n  with  a  smile  which 
r  words  their  haugh- 
5  not  both  know  that 
Glenorchie  of  Glen- 
nything  unworthy  of 

)onded,  with  a  pride 
y  there  not,  however, 
hat  is  unworthy,  and 

and,  I  think,  never  in 

in   a   certain    rank 

;nse  of  dignity  and 


GRISELDA 


m 


"And  must  dignity  and  honor  always  have 
the  first  place  in  life?" 

"Perhaps  not.  I  am  scarcely  prepared  to 
grade  and  tabulate  our  duties.  People  like 
ourselves  have  no  need  to  give  reasons  to 
justify  their  acts. " 

"I  should  like  to  have  some  for  mine." 

"There  are  conditions,  Nigel,  which  are 
unaffected  by  argument.  There  are  circum- 
stances in  which  all  the  reasons  you  could 
plead  would  be  one  way ;  while  the  decision 
of  one's  hereditary,  infallible  judgment 
would  go  the  other." 

"You  mean  that  in  the  case  of  my  wishing 
to  marry  Miss  Grant  no  arguments  would 
have  weight.  The  question  is  pre-judged, 
and  sentence  is  given  beforehand." 

"Yes,  Nigel.  Since  you  put  a  point-blank 
question  I  can  only  give  you  a  point-blank 
reply.  That  is  why  I  beg  you,  for  her  sake, 
to  be  discreet,  more  discreet  even  than  there 
may  be  need  to  be." 

"And  yet,  if  we  knew  anything  of  her 
family  we  might  find " 

"Why  should  we  know  an3rthing  of  her 
family?  How  can  they  interest  us?  Phil- 
lida  says,  jokingly  I  suppose,  that  they  are 
connections  by  marriage  of  the  Wimpoles. 


r- 


9 


j^  GRISELDA 

Let  it  be  so.     Nothing  is  changed  thereby. 
Nothing  is  rendered  thereby  one  whit  less 

impossible." 
•'Then   your   objection    to   her   is   per- 

^°-My  son,"  said  Lady  Glenorchie,  with  a 

sudden  strength  of   emphasis,   Ifting   her 

embroidery  fall  into  her  lap,  and  betraying 

Tori  emotion  than  she  had  as  yet  allowed 

to  become  visible,  "My  son,  I  have  no  ob. 

jection  to  her.     Between  a  young  woman  of  I 

her  sphere  and  me  there  is  no  point  of  con- 

tact,  and  therefore  no  point  of  difference. 

She  is  doubtless  of  excellent  personal  char- 

acter,  and  an  adornment  to  her  rank  inhfe. 

I  do  not  know.    I  have  no  ^neans  of  judging^ 

Let  us  admit  everything  to  which  she  can 

have  a  claim.     She  still  remains  a  person  of  | 

another  stamp,  another  order,   than   our. 

Why  should  we  discuss  any  longer  a  subjec 

which  can  have  no  great  interest  to  eithe 

you  or  me?     Phillida  and  her  friend  wH 

have  left  us  in  a  few  days'  time  and  th 

incident  of  their  visit  will  soon  have  been 

'"L^oTond  made  no  reply.    HewasdebatiJ 
within  himself  as  to  how  far  a  man,  situ^ed 
as  he,  was  free  to  follow  his  own  wishes,  and 


,DA 

s  changed  thereby, 
jreby  one  whit  less 

n    to   her   is   per- 

Glenorchie,  with  a 
phasis,  letting  her 
r  lap,  and  betraying 

had  as  yet  allowed 
r  son,  I  have  no  ob- 
n  a  young  woman  of  I 
:e  is  no  point  of  con- 
point  of  difference, 
ellent  personal  char- 
it  to  her  rank  in  life. 
no  means  of  judging, 
ng  to  which  she  can  I 
1  remains  a  person  of  | 
iv  order,   than   ours. 
;  any  longer  a  subject  I 
reat  interest  to  either  I 

and  her  friend  willl 
'  days'  time,  and  the  I 
;  will  soon  have  been 

ply.  He  was  debating! 
3W  far  a  man,  situatedl 
(W  his  own  wishes,  and! 


GRISELDA 


55 


how  far  he  had  the  right  to  break  his  moth- 
er's heart. 

As  the  two  sat  thus  in  silent  conflict,  each 
divining  what  was  passing  in  the  other's 
mind,  Botolph  Grayburn  and  Griselda  Grant 
came  out  in  view,  passing  through  the  open 
French  window  from  the  library  to  the  lawn. 


f 


IV 

Coming  from  the  dim,  cool,  sombrely-fur- 
nished room,  Graybum  paused,  dazzled  a  lit- 
tie  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  scene  before  him. 
He  drew  a  long  breath  of  pleasure. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  he  said,  as  Griselda 
was  about  to  descend  from  the  terrace  to  the 
lawn.     "Let  me  look." 

Long  absence  had  made  the  English  land- 
scape  better  than  new  in  Graybum's  eyes. 
He  had  come  back  to  it  after  years  of  wan- 
dering, knowing  himself  forgotten  by  friend 
and  family  alike.     For  this  he  cared  but 
little-  it  was  not  of  them  he  had  dreamed  in 
his  twenty  years  of  self-denial  and  adven- 
ture; it  was  of  the  land  itself,  with  its  nch, 
restful  beauty,  its  scent  of  fruit  and  flower, 
and  its  responsive  soil.     He  was  of  the  type 
of  Englishman  who  adapts  himself  easily  to 
a  new  environment,  and  yet  in  it  is  secretly 
an  exile.    From  the  moment  when  his  re- 
generation had  begun  Graybum  had  cher- 
ished but  one  hope,  to  come  back  to  the  land 
from  which  he  had  fled,  and  for  which^his 

86 


uge 

could 

hims( 

bidde 

small 

try,  r 

her  h 

her  e 

her  ti 

worn 

ardor 

effort, 

even 

wasd< 

'*Lt 

what '. 


GRISELDA 


57 


ool,  sombrely-fur- 
used,  dazzled  a  lit- 
scene  before  him. 
pleasure, 
said,  as  Griselda 
1  the  terrace  to  the 

5  the  English  land- 
n  Graybum's  eyes, 
after  years  of  wan- 
forgotten  by  friend 
this  he  cared  but 
he  had  dreamed  in 
•denial  and  adven- 
itself,  with  its  rich, 
of  fruit  and  flower, 
He  was  of  the  type 
)ts  himself  easily  to 
yet  in  it  is  secretly 
)ment  when  hisre- 
jraybum  had  char- 
)me  back  to  the  land 
i,  and  for  which  ^his 


heart  had  never  ceased  to  hunger—to  come 
back    rich,    respected,    able    to    command 
esteem.     Then  he  would  find  himself  a  ref- 
uge  which  should  be  his  own,  to  which  he 
could  give  himself,  on  which  he  could  spend 
himself,  and  from  which  he  could  never  be 
bidden  to  depart.     Human  love  had  but  a 
small  place  in  his  heart.  He  loved  his  coun- 
try, not  as  a  patriot  but  as  a  son;  he  loved 
her  hills,  her  streams,  her  fields,  her  trees 
her  embowered  lanes,  her  storied  villages,' 
her  time-worn  churches  engirdled  by  time- 
worn  tombs,— he  loved  all  these  with  an 
ardor  of  longing  that  had  nerved  him  to 
effort,  sustained  him  in  depression,  and  had 
even  kept  him  from  returning  till  his  work 
was  done. 

'•Look,"  he  said  to  Griselda.  "This  is 
what  I  have  dreamt  of  for  more  than  twenty 
years." 

The  western  sunlight  was  slanting  athwart 
a  glade  of  pines,  turning  each  trunk  to 
a  pillar  of  bronze.  The  sheen  of  the  shorn 
lawn  starred  with  daisies  was  like  that  of 
velvet.  Beyond  the  lawn  were  flowers. 
Beyond  the  flowers  the  landscape  passed 
mto  pasture  and  park,  till  it  ended  amid  the 
huge,  historic  trees  of  Swinley. 


«MW 


mmm 


^ 


GRISELDA 


I 


M. 


-It  is  what  I  have  dreamt  of,"  Grayburn 
repeated.  "It  is  what  I  have  worked  for. 
It  is  what  I  shall  have."  ^  .    , ,         ., 

.'It  is  what  you  deserve,"  Gnselda  said 
"It  is  a  reward  which  there  is  nothing  lett 

but  to  take."  ,, 

"Nothing  left  but  to  receive-from  you 
"I  have  nothing  to  give  you  but  grati- 

^"^ "  And  I  ask  no  more.     Gratitude  has  its 
dictates,  as  well  as  love."  ^ 

' '  Yes,  but  not  the  same. "  ^       , 

"One   word  more,  Griselda,"   Grayburn 
said    with  a  quick  change  of  tone.       Uver 
herellts  the  man  you  think  you  love    on 
whom  you  would  lavish  what  you  owe  to  me. 
Understand  that   I   shall  never  permit  it^ 
Remember  that  in  this  situation  it  is  I  who 
frnmaster.     Before  we  pin  that  lady  and 
her  son  let  me  make  clear  to  you  aga m  that 
I  leave  nothing  to  your  choice,  that  I  can 
break  your  will  more  easily  than  you  mme 
"Don't  threaten  me,  "the  girl  said,  quietly. 

.  "It  is  not  the  way;  it  is  not  to  any  menaces 
that  I  shall  finally  submit.  But  you  your- 
self have  advised  that  at  present  we  say  no 
"L  Let  us  wait.  Let  us  trust  not  ^o  a 
conflict  of  wills,  but  to  a  council  of  hearts. 


tnt  of,"  Grayburn 
have  worked  for. 

e,"  Griselda  said. 
,ere  is  nothing  left 

ceive— from  you. " 
ive  you  but  grati- 

Gratitude  has  its 


iselda,"   Grayburn 
ge  of  tone.     "Over 
think  you  love,  on 
ivhat  you  owe  to  me. 
[1  never  permit  it. 
situation  it  is  I  who 
join  that  lady  and 
!ar  to  you  again  that 
ir  choice,  that  I  can 
sily  than  you  mine." 
the  girl  said,  quietly. 
3  not  to  any  menaces 
)mit.     But  you  your- 
at  present  we  say  no 
Let  us  trust  not  to  a 
,  a  council  of  hearts." 


GRISELDA 


59 


"I  am  willing  to  wait  and  to  trust,  Grisel- 
da. If  I  speak  strongly  it  is  because  this 
scene  puts  fire  in  my  blood.  Besides,  I 
want  to  warn  you,  to  keep  you  from  unnec- 
essary pain.  I  am  accustomed  to  use  any 
means  that  will  secure  my  ends.  I  want  you 
to  know  that  in  this  case  I  will  do  so." 

"What  means?"  faltered  the  girl.  For  the 
first  time  she  felt  frightened. 

"The  readiest,"  he  said,  as  he  went  down 
the  steps.  "Your  friends  are  looking  at  us. 
We  ought  to  join  them. " 


-m 


.  '■  mwiiDiiiwwiiiu'wui 


m^ 


i'i 


,r  1 


i 
Hi 


As  they  crossed  the  lawn,  Lomond  rose 
and  came  to  meet  them. 

"Lord  Lomond,"  said  Griselda,  **I  want 
to  introduce  to  you  my  oldest  and  best 
friend,  Mr.  Grayburn." 

"Any  friend  of  Miss  Grant's  is  welcome 
at  Lomond  Lodge,"  said  the  young  man, 
extending  his  hand,  "and  especially  one 
who  has  the  good  luck  to  be  the  best  and 
oldest." 

"Oldest,  perhaps,"  rejoined  Grayburn, 
"but  as  to  being  best,  I  begin  to  be  a  little 
in  doubt  since  hearing  of  the  kindness  of 
newer  friends." 

"I  came,  I  saw,  I  conquered,"  said  Miss 
Grant,  laughingly. 

"And  now, "  said  Lord  Lomond, "you  have 
only  to  occupy  the  territory  you  have  won." 

"Have  the  natives  been  disarmed?"  asked 
Grayburn. 

"Not  by  any  means,"  Griselda  replied. 

"Then,"  said  Grayburn,  "you  must  either 
fight  them  or  run  away." 

60 


alliai 

Tl 
no  n 
word 
unde 
the  : 
men 
of  th 

"/ 
first 
carei 
a  get 
ing 
face, 
blue 

"/ 
bum. 
old-f 

"I 
Gran 
powe 
Comi 
Glen 

"1 


awn,  Lomond  rose 

Griselda,  "I  want 
7  oldest  and   best 

Grant's  is  welcome 
d  the  young  man, 
md  especially  one 
to  be  the  best  and 

jjoined  Grayburn, 
begin  to  be  a  little 
of  the  kindness  of 

quered,"  said  Miss 

Lomond,  "you  have 
3ry  you  have  won." 
n  disarmed?"  asked 

Griselda  replied, 
n,  "you  must  either 


GRISELDA 


#1 


a  third  course,"  Lomond  sug- 
Graybum  began. 


■?• 


"There  is 
gested. 

"Which  is- 

"To  form  an  offensive  and  defensive 
alliance." 

They  spoke  lightly,  as  though  attaching 
no  more  than  a  frivolous  iulerest  to  their 
words,  and  yet  they  were  conscious  of  an 
undercurrent  of  serious  intention.  During 
the  minute  they  stood  together  each  of  the 
men  attempted  to  form  some  slight  estimate 
of  the  other. 

"A  gentleman,  at  least,"  was  Lomond's 
first  thought,  as  he  remarked  Graybum's 
careful  dress  and  quiet  bearing.  "Perhaps 
a  gentleman  adventurer,"  he  continued,  look- 
ing a  second  time  into  the  hard,  handsome 
face,  taking  note  also  of  the  restless  steels 
blue  eyes. 

"A  feudal  lord  in  a  golf  suit,"  was  Gray- 
bum.'s  reflection.  "Modem  good  looks  and 
old-fashioned  good  manners." 

"If  there  is  to  be  any  alliance,"  said  Miss 
Grant,  taking  Graybum's  arm,  "the  high 
powers  should  proceed  to  treat  together. 
Come  and  let  me  introduce  you  to  Lady 
Glenorchie." 

"Mother,"  said   Lord  Lomond,  as  they 


'•«.; 
':*'i 


|l! 


62 


GRISELDA 


came  under  the  group  of  pines, 
Miss  Grant's  friend,  Mr.  Grayburn." 

As  Grayburn  bowed  Lady  Glenorchie 
smiled  with  ready  welcome.  No  feeling  of 
her  own  could  make  her  forget  for  an  instant 
the  hospitality  due  from  a  great  Scotch  lady 
towards  even  a  passing  guest. 

"Mr.  Grayburn's  name,"  she  said,  "takes 
me  back  at  once  to  my  girlhood.  I  had  a 
friend  named  Maria  Grayburn,  dead  now 
many  years  ago. " 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Grayburn 
promptly,  "She  married  a  Colonel  Ordway, 
and  died  the  same  year.  She  was  my 
cousin's  daughter. " 

"Then  you  are  of  the  Lincolnshire  Gray- 
burns,  of  Grayburn  Hall?     Won't  you  sit 

down?"  , 

She  pointed  to  a  chair  near  her  own,  and 

Grayburn  took  it. 

"I  am  of  that  family,"  he  said.  "But  I 
have  been  out  of  England  for  many  years." 

Lady  Glenorchie  looked  at  him  with  an 
interest  she  did  not  often  show  towards  a 
stranger.  The  thought  of  a  new  possibility 
was  forming  in  her  mind.  "Is  this  man  to 
be  my  ally  or  hers?"  she  asked  herself. 
The  fact  that  he  was  a  Grayburn  of  Lincohi- 


whon 
not  « 
frien( 
ery  t 
Grise 
tones 

"Y 
Lady 

"Y 

llm- 

Scotcl 

under 

cover 

"Tl 

some 

tries 

never 

new  1 

tional 

ser-  ec 

Amer 

of  our 

"Is 

differe 

la  com 

[many 

■have 


DA 

of  pines,   "this 
Gray  bum." 

Lady  Glenorchie 
•me.  No  feeling  of 
forget  for  an  instant 
a  great  Scotch  lady 
ruest. 

B,"  she  said,  "takes 
f  girlhood.  I  had  a 
raybum,  dead  now 

*•  said  Grayburii 
I  a  Colonel  Ordway, 
ar.      She    was   my 

5  Lincolnshire  Gray- 
all?     Won't  you  sit 

ir  near  her  own,  and 

y,"  he  said.  "But  I 
ind  for  many  years." 
ked  at  him  with  an 
ften  show  towards  a 
t  of  a  new  possibility 
nd.  "Is  this  man  to 
'  she  asked  herself. 
Graybum  of  Lincoln- 


GRISELDA 


«3 


!  hire  placed  him  on  the  footing  of  one  with 
whom  she  could  treat  as  an  equal.  She  had 
not  expected  this  in  one  of  Miss  Grant's 
friends,  and  was  so  impressed  by  the  discov- 
ery that  she  did  not  observe  Lomond  and 
Griselda  Grant  talking  in  low  and  earnest 
tones  imprudently  far  away. 

"You  have  been  in  America  perhaps?" 
Lady  Glenorchie  asked. 

"Yes,  for  more  than  twenty  years," 

"That  wonderful  country,  which  we 
Scotch  and  English  are  only  beginning  to 
understand.  For  me  it  is  like  a  new  dis- 
covery." 

"That  is  quite  true,"  Graybum  said,  with 
some  little  emphasis.  "The  parent  coun- 
tries of  America,  England  especially,  have 
never  quite  taken  in  the  fact  that  a  great 
new  nation,  with  new  ideals,  and  new  na- 
tional standards,  has  sprung  up  almost  unob- 
ser- ed.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that 
America  is  a  new  discovery  to  the  majority 
of  our  countrymen. ' ' 

"I  suppose  it  is  the  fact  that  our  ideals  are 
different  which  makes  it  so  hard  for  us  to  find 
a  common  point  of  view.  I  have  met  a  good 
many  Americans,  my  son's  friends,  but  they 
have  always  seemed  so  far  away  from  me." 


64 


GRISBLDA 


"Is  it  not,  perhaps,  that  we— I  speak  as  an 
Englishman— do   not  admit   quite   frankly 
enough  the  American's  right  to  be  different 
from  ourselves?  We  do  so  readily  in  the  case 
of  the  Frenchman  or  the  Spaniard.     We 
expect  him  to  have  another  fashion  of  say- 
ing  and  doing  things  than  ours.     When  we 
see  it  we  are  interested  and  amused.     The 
European  foreigner  is  so  distant  from  us 
that  we  rather  enjoy  his  point  of  view  from 
its  contrast  to  our  own.     The  American,  on 
the  other  hand,  is  mentally  and  socially  so 
near  us  that  we  refuse  to  grant  him  any  lib- 
erty to  be  different  at  all.      Because   he 
speaks  our  language  we  demand  that  he  shall 
speak  it  as  we  do.    Because  his  habits  are  so 
like  our  own  we  demand  that  they  shall  be 

exactly  the  same." 

"You  mean,"  said  Lady  Glenorchie,  "that 
the  Englishman  enjoys  the  difference  of  type 
abroad,  but  tolerates  only  uniformity  at 
home." 

"Precisely,"  said  Graybum,  leaning  for- 
ward in  his  chair  and  speaking  with  warmth. 
"And  he  demands,  unconsciously  perhaps, 
that  the  American  shall  differ  as  little  from 
himself  as  the  gentleman  of  Westmoreland 
from  the  gentleman  of  Kent.    There  is  the 


cause 
betwe 
upper 
of  an 


.DA 

t  we — I  speak  as  an 
imit  quite  frankly 
right  to  be  different 

10  readily  in  the  case 
the  Spaniard.  We 
)ther  fashion  of  say- 
lan  ours.  When  we 
[  and  amused.  The 
so  distant  from  us 
s  point  of  view  from 

The  American,  on 
tally  and  socially  so 
;o  grant  him  any  lib- 
t  all.  Because  he 
demand  that  he  shall 
luse  his  habits  are  so 
ttd  that  they  shall  be 

.dyGlenorchie,  "that 
the  difference  of  type 
only   uniformity   at 

raybum,  leaning  for- 
>eaking  with  warmth, 
consciously  perhaps, 

11  differ  as  little  from 
aan  of  Westmoreland 
t  Kent.    There  is  the 


GRISBLDA 


m 


cause  of  whatever  social  friction  may  exist 
between  the  two.  The  Englishman  of  the 
upper  classes  acknowledges  but  one  model 
of  an  Anglo-Saxon  gentleman.  When  he 
sees  another  he  resents  it." 

•'And  the  American?"  asked  Lady  Glen- 
orchie. 

"Oh,  he  is  just  as  bad,"  Graybum 
answered  quickly,  ''just  as  intolerant.  To 
him  the  man  who  speaks  English,  and  who 
doesn't  correspond  to  some  type  he  has 
known  in  New  England  or  New  York,  in 
the  South  or  in  the  West,  is  little  short  of  a 
freak  of  nature." 

"And  you?  What  position  do  you  take 
up?" 

"Oh,  I  am  nothing— or  both,"  said  Gray- 
bum,  smiling.  "I  have  always  been  an 
Englishman  in  America.  I  suppose  I  shall 
always  be  an  American  in  England." 

Lady  Glenorchie  smiled  too  as  she  said : 

"Does  not  that  seem  rather  unfortunate? 
Is  it  not  best  to  be  either  the  one  or  the 
other?" 

"I  think  not.  In  the  relations  between 
England  and  America  as  they  now  stand 
there  is  room  for  three  classes,  the  positive 
Englishman,  the  positive  American,  and  the 


-•1 


I 


,A1 


.1!' 


66 


GRISELDA 


transitional  person  who  fonns  a  link  be- 
tween the  two.  He  is  the  Englishman  who 
lives  in  America,  or  the  American  who  lives 
in  England.  He  understands  both,  and  does 
something  at  least  to  help  each  to  under- 
stand the  other. " 

At  this  moment  a  servant  appear-.d  bring- 
ing a  light  folding  table,  which  he  placed 
before  Lady  Glenorchie.  A  second  servant 
bore  a  large  silver  tray  on  which  were  the 
materials  for  making  tea. 

"I  can  understand  that  the  class  in  which  ; 
you  include  yourself  must  be  useful  in  inter- 
national relations;  especially  between  coun- 
tries  closely  and  yet  distantly  related  as] 
England  and  America.  I  should  think,  how- 
ever,  that  the  position  would  be  somewhat 
unsatisfactory  to  yourself." 

Lady  Glenorchie  busied  herself  with  the 
tea-things,  and  spoke  somewhat  absent- 
mindedly.  As  a  matter  of  fact  she  was  keep- 
ing up  the  conversation  only  out  of  courtesy 
to  her  guest.  Her  real  interest  was  bent  on 
discovering  whether  this  man  could  or  could 
not  be  useful  to  her  in  separating  her  son 
from  Griselda  Grant.  I 

Grayburn  himself  had  divined  from  the 
first  moment  that  the  mother  of  his  rival 


must 

talkin] 

lieve  t 

of  hei 

some  ! 

might 

ished 

of   he 

bushe 

The  g 

a  pal 

dress. 

Gra 

flush 

cheek 

with  • 

"N 

for  n 

think 

Loi 

he  g 

chair 

"I 

burn 

the  5 

tea  i 

from 

am  £ 


.DA 


GRISELDA 


m 


)  fomis  a  link  be- 
he  Englishman  who 
Americaln  who  lives 
tands  both,  and  does 
lelp  each  to  under- 

rant  appeai:«jd  bring- 
lie,  which  he  placed 
I.  A  second  servant 
y  on  which  were  the 

a. 

at  the  class  in  which 
ist  be  useful  in  inter- 
cially  between  coun- 
distantly  related  as 
I  should  think,  how- 
would  be  somewhat 

5lf." 

sied  herself  with  the  | 
!  somewhat  absent- 
of  fact  she  was  keep- 
I  only  out  of  courtesy  I 
[  interest  was  bent  on 
is  man  could  or  could 
in  separating  her  son 

lad  divined  from  thej 
mother  of  his  rival] 


must  be  his  natural  ally.  He  too  had  been 
talking  for  talking's  sake.  He  did  not  be- 
lieve that  Lady  Glenorchie  could  be  ignorant 
of  her  son's  inclination.  He  watched  for 
some  sign,  he  listened  for  some  word,  which 
might  betray  her  state  of  mind.  As  she  fin- 
ished speaking  she  turned  her  head  in  search 
of  her  son.  He  stood  beside  some  rose- 
bushes not  far  away,  talking  to  Griselda. 
The  girl  herself  was  in  the  act  of  fastening 
a  pale  pink  rose  in  the  white  lace  of  her 

dress. 

Graybum  did  not  fail  to  note  the  delicate 
flush  which  came  into  Lady  Glenorchie 's 
cheek,  nor  the  slight  severity  of  emphasis 
with  which  she  spoke  to  her  son. 

"Nigel,  would  you  mind  calling  Phillips 
for  me?  He  has  forgotten  something.  I 
think  he  is  in  the  dining-room." 

Lomond  and  Miss  Grant  came  forward, 
he  going  towards  the  house,  she  taking  a 
chair  by  Graybum's  side, 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  taken  all  Mr.  Gray- 
burn's  attention,"  Lady  Glenorchie  said  to 
the  young  girl,  measuring  as  she  spoke  the 
tea  from  a  silver  caddy  into  a  spoon,  and 
from  the  spoon  into  a  Dresden  tea-pot.  "I 
am  sure  you  must  have  a  great  deal  to  say 


-.  I' 


K  "Ij!" 


68 


GRISELDA 


to   each    other    after    so    long   a   separa- 
tion." 

"We  have  said  a  good  deal  akeady,"  said 
Miss  Grant  lightly,  "haven't  we,  Mr.  Gray- 
bum?  So  much,  in  fact,  that  I  have  already 
forgotten  the  greater  part  of  it.  That  is  one 
of  the  advantages  of  an  old,  old  friendship. 
One  can  say  all  sorts  of  ridiculous  things, 
and  know  that  one  isn't  taken  at  one's  word. " 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  while 
Lady  Glenorchie  gave  an  order  to  Phillips. 
"I  was  sure  you  did  not  mean  what  you 
said  a  little  while  ago." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  flush. 
"You  mistake  me.  I  was  speaking  of  you. 
It  is  I  who  forget.  It  was  you  who  were 
not  in  earnest" 

She  could  say  no  more  for  the  moment, 
for  just  then  a  loud,  musical  voice  called  out 
from  the  other  side  of  the  lawn,  with  a  very 
distinct  enunciation  but  a  marked  staccato 
foreigfn  accent. 

"Lady  Glenorchie,  you  must  let  me  paint 
you  altogether  like  that.  Yes,  at  the  little 
table  of  tea,  which  is  so  English.  Rest  like 
that,  I  pray  you,  the  cup  in  the  hand.  It  is 
perfect,  perfect.  It  must  be,  madame. 
Your  portrait  will  make  me  famous." 


*"  '^lt&Vslt*»«--  fi^'-**"'- 


DA 


GRISBLDA 


30    long   a   separa- 

Ideal  akeady,"  said 
ven't  we,  Mr.  Gray- 

that  I  have  already 
rt  of  it.  That  is  one 
I  old,  old  friendship, 
of  ridiculous  things, 
aken  at  one's  word. " 

in  a  low  tone,  while 
an  order  to  Phillips. 
lOt  mean  what  you 

with  a  sudden  flush. 
was  sx>eaking  of  you. 
:  was  you  who  were 

ore  for  the  moment, 
isical  voice  called  out 
he  lawn,  with  a  very 
It  a  marked  staccato 

ou  must  let  me  paint 
it.  Yes,  at  the  little 
>  English.  Rest  like 
ip  in  the  hand.  It  is 
must  be,  madame. 
i  me  famous." 


IU-M^--W 


I  cannot  sit  for  you  to-day.  Monsieur  de 
Marignan,"  Lady  Glenorchie  said,  as  the 
artist  came  forward  to  join  the  group,  "so 
please  sit  down,  and  try  tc  behave  like  an 
Englishman  having  his  tea." 

"Tea,  madame!"  cried  the  Frenchman, 
with  a  graceful  gesture  of  the  hand.  "Oh, 
what  is  tea  when  one  has  a  pose  like  that!" 

Don't  speak  disrespectfully  of  tea,  Mon- 
sieur," said  Griselda,  as  she  took  the  cup 
which  Grayburn  passed  to  her.  "Tea  is  the 
philtre  by  which  the  east  still  maintains  its 
hold  upon  the  west.  See,  the  very  vessel 
from  which  we  drink  it  is  called  China." 

"And  Mademoiselle  has  the  wisdom  of 
east  and  west  combined,"  said  the  French- 
man, with  a  bow. 

"And  Monsieur  de  Marignan  has  that  of 
neither,"  cried  a  light,  silvery  voice,  as  Lady 
Phillida  Wimpole,  who  had  crossed  the  lawn 
unobserved,  took  her  place  near  Griselda. 

Grayburn  turned  on  the  new-comer  his 
keen,  quickly  judging  eyes.  She  was  not 
what  he  expected;  she  was  evidently  no 
money-hunting  dowager,  no  social  harpy. 
Slender,  just  above  the  middle  height,  with 
an  air  of  languor,  yet  exceedingly  alert,  per- 
fectly dressed,  perfectly  at  ease,  perfectly 


I 


i 


!? 


70 


GRISELDA 


\r 


IP 


"  sure  of  herself,  absolutely  simple  in  manner, 
with  that  simplicity  which  is  the  result  of 
infinite  self-con-ection,  Lady  Phillida  Wim- 
pole  was  henceforth  in  Graybum's  eyes  the 
incarnation    of    all    his  ideals    of   modern 
womanhood.     Her  features  were  small  and 
regular,  her  head  was  well-poised,  her  com- 
plexion that  of  the  wild  pink  rose  when  it  is 
just  passing  the  very  perfection  of  its  beauty. 
Her  chestnut  hair  growing  low  on  the  fore- 
head   waved  daintily  over  the  whitest  of 
brows.     The  eyes  were  gray— not  large  and 
soft,  but  large  and  earnest,  hard  according 
to  some,  hungry  according  to  others.     They 
were  certainly  cold  as  a  rule,  and  critical, 
but  capable  of  gleams  of  tenderness  which 
few  had  seen.    At  the  present  moment,  with 
a  parasol  that  suggested  a  shower  of  cream- 
colored  lace  shading  her  uncovered  head,  she 
looked  not  more  than  thirty,  though  her 
exact  age  was  given  in  the  Peerage.    Beside 
her,  as  Grayburn  thought.  Lady  Glenorchie, 
with  her  old-world  elegance,  looked  like  a 
fading  flower,  and  Griselda  like  one  which 
had  not  yet  bloomed.     Frank,  frivolous  and 
original,   was   the  character  Lady  Phillida 
bore  in  the  world;  though  the  few  who  had 
penetrated  beneath  the  surface  of  her  life 


DA 


r 


'  simple  in  manner, 
ch  is  the  result  of 
^ady  Phillida  Wim- 
iraybum's  eyes  the 
ideals    of   modern 
res  were  small  and 
sll-poised,  her  com- 
pink  rose  when  it  is 
Eection  of  its  beauty, 
ing  low  on  the  fore- 
ver the  whitest  of 
gray— not  large  and 
lest,  hard  according 
ng  to  others.     They 
a  rule,  and  critical, 
of  tenderness  which 
resent  moment,  with 
i  a  shower  of  cream- 
■  uncovered  head,  she 
thirty,  though  her 
the  Peerage.    Beside 
ht.  Lady  Glenorchie, 
:gance,  looked  like  a 
selda  like  one  which 
Frank,  frivolous  and 
racter  Lady  Phillida 
ugh  the  few  who  had 
e  surface  of  her  life 


GRISELDA 


71 


knew  of  saving  graces  rarely  to  be  found 
elsewhere. 

The  daughter  of  a  poor  earl,  she  had  mar- 
ried a  poor  admiral,  and  at  twenty-six  had 
become  a  poor  widow  Poor  to  Lady  Phil- 
lida meant  just  sufficient  for  food  and  cloth- 
ing and  the  maintenance  of  a  modest 
establishment  in  Queen's  Gate.  It  was  not 
absolute  penury,  but  it  was  not  all  her  taste 
desired;  it  was  not  even  all,  she  thought, 
that  her  needs  required.  Having  married 
for  love,  she  had  no  intention  to  remairy  for 
money,  though  she  might  have  done  so  more 
than  once.  She  preferred  to  use  her  liberty 
and  position  for  the  benefit  of  others  and 
herself. 

It  was  an  open  secret  that  the  young  and 
lovely  girls,  who  from  time  to  time  rendered 
more  attractive  than  ever  Lady  Phillida's 
small  house  in  Queen's  Gate,  were  not  there 
only  for  love  of  the  mistress  of  the  mansion. 
But  London  is  so  free,  so  tolerant,  so  ready 
to  accept  just  that  which  meets  the  eye, 
without  asking  to  know  more!  And  as  a 
matter  of  fact  Lady  Phillida's  plan  had 
worked  admirably.  At  least  one  great  house 
owed  its  chief  happiness  to  her,  and  in  more 
than  one  minor  establishment  she  held  the 


-^Mt$mDmamm 


% 


,,  GRISELDA 

place  of  f airy-godmother.  There  were  those 
io  whom  she  had  given  their  chance  in  life, 
who  without  her  would  have  had  no  chance 
at  all  To  the  young  women  under  her  pro- 
:  cUon  her  advice  was  always  pnidentprac^ 
tical  and  probably  wiser  than  any  their  own 
Sers  could  have  given.  A  marnage  o^ 
Reason  butof  love  was  theaimshekeptbefo« 

her  for  her  charges'  sake,  and  she  always 
reached  it.  Happiness  -t  ambition  w^^^^^^^^ 
goal  for  them,  and  so  far  none  had  tnissed  it 
^  ''Lady  PhiUida,"  said  Marignan.  ha^en- 
ing  to  bring  her  a  chair,  "Lady  Phi  Ud^ 
scLs  me  because  she  knows  I  am  at  her  fee 
Harimoreprideshewouldhavemorepvty^ 

^^Phillida  Flouts  Mer  said  Lady  Glenor- 
chie.  pouring  another  cup  of  tea  2--^ 
our  ■  prettiest  old  English  ballads.  You 
should  learn  it,  monsieur." 

"I  will,  madame,  I  will.  She  shall  hear  it 
under  her  window  in  Queen's  Gate.  Only, 
alas!  I  cannot  sing."  . 

"Oh,  that  doesn't  matter,  monsieur-m 
England,"  said  Griselda. 

Lady  Glenorchie  flashed  a  quick  glance 
upon  the  girl,  who  met  the  older  woman  s 

/T^^rtsn't    find    us   musical 


Ik 


DA 


GRISELDA 


73 


There  were  those 
:heir  chance  in  life, 
iiave  had  no  chance 
men  under  her  pro- 
ways  prudent,  prac- 

than  any  their  own 
en.  A  marriage  of 
;  aim  she  kept  before 

ke,  and  she  always 
ot  ambition,  washer 
none  had  missed  it. 
a  Marignan,  hasten- 
air,  "Lady  Phillida 
lows  I  am  at  her  feet, 
mid  have  more  pity." 
"  said  Lady  Glenor- 
:up  of  tea,  *'is  one  of 
glish   ballads.     You 

ar." 

nil.   She  shall  hear  It 

;^ueen's  Gate.    Only, 

natter,   monsieur— in 

ia. 

ished  a  quick  glance 

Let  the  older  woman's 

n't    find    us   musical 


enough?"  Lady  Glenorchie  asked,  as  though 
she  scented  battle. 

"Not  in  England,"  said  the  girl.  "The 
true  land  of  song  is  Scotland. " 

Lady  Glenorchie  did  not  know  whether 
this  was  meant  in  sincerity  or  sarcasm. 

"It  is  the  Scotch  who  feel  that,"  she  said 
proudly. 

"Yes,"  said  Griselda,  "I  am  Scotch." 

"I  thought  that  in  America  one's  real  na- 
tionality was  lost?" 

"I  didn't  lose  mine,"  said  Griselda. 

Again  there  was  the  flash  of  glances  ex- 
changed between  the  two.  Lady  Glenorchie 
felt  vaguely  that  Griselda  was  presuming. 

"Will  you  give  me  a  cup  of  tea,  mother?" 
Lomond  asked,  coming  up  just  in  time  to 
interrupt  the  struggle  of  which  no  one  but 
himself  was  aware.  "And  here  is  Miss 
Dumbleton,"  he  continued,  as  a  tall,  stately 
girl,  blue-eyed,  blonde,  and  proudly  gentle 
in  carriage,  came  from  the  direction  of  the 
I  tennis  court,  accompanied  by  two  young 
men  in  flannels. 

Lomond  placed  a  chair  for  Miss  Dumble- 
I  ton,  and  sat  down  beside  her. 

Waynfiete  and  Garth,  heated  and  flushed 
I  with  playing,  threw  themselves  on  the  grass. 


Hi 


^4  GRISELDA 

As  the  group  grew  larger  the  conversation 
became  lels  general.    Lady  G^-orchie  went 
on  with  her  duties  as  hostess,  but  saying 
little      Lomond  and  Miss  Dumbleton,  each 
with  teacup  in  hand,  were  in  quiet  conversa- 
tion  a  little  apart  from  the  others.     Lady 
Phillida,  Miss  Grant,  and  Marignan,  talking 
e^  :  laughing  a  great  deal,  were  a  group  by 
themselves.     Grayburn  sat  in  silent  enjoy- 
Lient  and  observation.     It  was  just  such  a 
scene  as  he  had  always  fancied  himself  com- 
ng  home  to-simple,  easy,  restful,  pictur- 
esque.    As  he  watched  Lady  Glenorchie's 
white  jeweled  hands  move  hither  and  thither 
Long  the  silver  and  porcelain,  his  thought 
w^re  back  in  the  mining  camps  of  Nevad 
and  Colorado,   where  so  many  of  his  first 
years  of  reformation  had  been  passed.     He 
traversed  the  still  harder  years  of  feverish 
watching  at  the  wheel  of  fortune  m  the  great 
Titles  of  the  west.    He  came  to  the  last  years 
of  all,  to  days  spent  half  in  calculation  and 
half  in  counting  upon  chance,  to  mghts  o 
.    broken  sleep,  to  an  almost  hourly  wait  ng 
ttpon  the  caprices  of  the  stock-exchanges  of 
Chicago  and  New  York,  which  could  give 
him  aU  or  take  all  away.     Now,  he  reflect 
with  satisfaction,  that  life  was  over.     It  had 


j,,u.jj«jjiiuimi»wMAiiiu»i-y4ittoiuawisss 


DA 

er  the  conversation 
iy  Glenorchie  went 
Lostess,  but  saying 
iS  Dumbleton,  each 
e  in  quiet  conversa- 

the  others.  Lady 
1  Marignan,  talking 
al,  were  a  group  by 
sat  in  silent  enjoy- 

It  was  just  such  a 
ancied  himself  com- 
:asy,  restful,  pictur- 

Lady  Glenorchie's 
ve  hither  and  thither 
rcelain,  his  thoughts 
ng  camps  of  Nevada 
,o  many  of  his  first 
ad  been  passed.  He 
ier  years  of  feverish 
,f  fortune  in  the  great 
:ame  to  the  last  years 
alf  in  calculation  and 

chance,  to  nights  of 
Imost  hourly  waiting 
36  stock-exchanges  of 
rk,  which  could  give 
y.  Now,  he  reflected 
life  was  over.     It  had 


GRISELDA 


75 


given  him  excitement,  but  no  joy.  One 
more  struggle,  and  then  his  whole  desire 
would  be  gratified. 

As  he  idly  watched  the  silent  servants 
come  and  go,  as  he  heard  without  heeding 
the  laughter  and  conversation  round  him,  as 
his  eye  wandered  over  the  rich,  well-ordered 
landscape  of  garden  and  park,  "All  this," 
he  said,  "shall  be  mine." 


fmw-MnMo^x:- 


I  ■" 


■    •;:','*     "^  VI 

The  sunlight  slanted  more  and  more  across 
the  glade  of  pines.  The  little  group  broke 
UP  Miss  Dumbleton  and  Lady  Phillida  went 
away  arm  in  arm,  followed  by  Garth  and 
Wavnflete.  Lomond  and  Marignan  were  in 
the  billiard-room.  Miss  Grant  withdrew  to 
her  own  apartment.  Only  Lady  Glenorchie 
and  Graybum  were  left  in  the  shady  corner 

of  the  lawn. 

Each  had  waited  for  this  opportunity  of 
quiet  talk.  Each  had  begun  to  feel  confi- 
''.ent  of  the  other.  , 

"You  will  come  back  and  dine  with  us,  1 
hope,"  Lady  Glenorchie  said,  when  they 
were  quite  alone.  . 

"Thank  you,"  said  Graybum,  taking  a 
chair  nearer  hers.  "I  should  like  to  do  so, 
if  it  is  not  too  great  a  tax  upon  your  kind- 

"Do  so,  please,"  said   Lady  Glenorchie 
taking  up  from  the  tabl ;  by  her  side  the  work 
sfe  had  laid  down  be  ore  tea.     "We  dine 

7<i 


hav< 
infa: 

"] 
didn 

"] 
cam 

Phil 


GRISELDA 


77 


ore  and  more  across 
little  group  broke 
Lady  Phillida  went 
wed  by  Garth  and 
1  Marignan  were  in 
Grant  withdrew  to 
ily  Lady  Glenorchie 
in  the  shady  corner 

this  opportunity  of 
begun  to  feel  confi- 

:  and  dine  with  us,  I 
ie  said,   when  they 

Grayburn,   taking  a 
should  like  to  do  so, 
,  tax  upon  your  kind- 
id   Lady  Glenorchie, 
;  by  her  side  the  work 
ore  tea.     "We  dine 


at  eight.  My  son  will  be  glad  to  see  you, 
and  of  course  you  want  to  be  as  much  as 
possible  with  your  friend." 

"My  ward,"  Grayburn  corrected.  "I 
have  been  Miss  Grant's  guardian  since  her 
infancy." 

"I  fancied  she  was  an  orphan,  though  I 
didn't  know." 

"I  think  you  had  not  met  her  before  she 
came  down  here." 

"No.  Miss  Grant  is  with  us  as  Lady 
Phillida  Wimpole's  friend." 

"It  has  been  a  great  advantage  to  her  to 
have  had  Lady  PhilHda's  protection.  I 
doubted  it  at  first,  but  I  can  understand  it 
now." 

"Since  you  have  seen  Lady  Phillida  her- 
self. Yes,  she  is  a  beautiful  woman,  and  one  of 
my  dearest  friends.  I  should  have  doubted, 
however,  if  the  life  she  leads  would  have 
been  exactly  that  in  which  you  would  have 
had  your  ward  presented." 

"It  is  not,"  said  Grayburn  frankly.  "Miss 
Grant  acted  in  the  matter  without  my  ad- 
vice. But  the  thing  being  done,  I  can  see 
that  it  is  not  all  wrong.  I  have  wanted  my 
ward  to  have  all  possible  social  advantages." 
"One  can  see  that  she  has  had  them.     It 


I  By- 


78 


GRISELDA 


must  have  been  a  difficult  task  for  a  man. 
But  perhaps  you  are  married?" 
"No;  I  am  not  married." 
"Then  your  ward  has  been  indeed  fortu- 
nate in  filling  into  such  excellent  hands. 
NothintT^    could  be  more  perfect  than  her 
general    style  and  bearing.      Monsieur  de 
Marignan  assures  us,  too,  that  she  speaks 
French  like  a  Frenchwoman.     She  certainly 
dresses  like  one. " 
"You  like  her,  then?" 
The    suddenness  of  the  inquiry  startled 
Lady    Glenorchie,  whose  intention  was  to 
ask  questions  rather  than  to  answer  them. 
Her  diplomatic  usage  was  to  cover  hesitation 
with  an  increased  kindliness. 

"Your  directness  frightens  me,"  she  said, 
with  a  smile. 

"I  have  never  found  that  uncertainty  of 
aim  helped  me  to  hit  the  mark." 

"You  prefer  to  go  straight  to  the  point." 
"When  there  is  one  I  want  to  reach." 
"Which  is  the  case  here?" 
"Which  is  the  case  in  general. " 
"But  here  in  particular,  I  think. " 
"You,  too,  are  direct,  Lady  Glenorchie." 
"I  can  see  you  are  a  frank  man;  I  suppose 
I  am  a  frank  woman." 


gSgR')ii»J^/JiMQJWlWMi(^^ 


DA 

It  task  for  a  man. 
ied?" 

been  Indeed  fortu- 
excellent  hands, 
perfect  than  her 
ig.  Monsieur  de 
),  that  she  speaks 
an.     She  certainly 


e  inquiry  startled 
intention  was  to 
to  answer  them. 

to  cover  hesitation 

2SS. 

;ens  me,"  she  said, 

that  uncertainty  of 

mark." 

ght  to  the  point." 

rant  to  reach. ' ' 

J?" 

eneral." 

,  I  think." 

Lady  Glenorchie." 

ink  man;  I  suppose 


GRISELDA 


79 


"Mine  is  the  brutal  directness  which  must 
fight  to  win;  yours  the  open  serenity  which 
has  never  feared  to  lose." 

"Mine,"  said  Lady  Glenorchie,  less  to  her 
hearer  than  to  her  own  protesting  con- 
science; "Mine  is  only  the  straight-forward 
intention  to  do  my  duty." 

"And  mine,"  said  Grayburn,  reckless  of 
conscience  and  hearer  alike;  "Mine  is  only 
the  outspoken  determination  to  succeed." 

"There  have  always  been  many  roads  to 

Rome." 

"And  equally  good  as  long  as  they  lead  to 
the  Golden  Milestone  in  the  Forum." 

"I  do  not  admit  that.  I  say  only  that 
people  may  be  guided  by  wholly  different 
motives  and  yet  reach  the  same  spot." 

"Which  means  that  you  and  I  could 
talk  together  on  a  certain  subject  without 
fear  of  giving  or  taking  oflEence.      Am   I 

ri^ht?" 

"Quite  so,"  said  Lady  Glenorchie,  letting 
her  work  fall  into  her  lap,  and  looking  him 
straight  in  the  eyes.  "You  and  I  are  stran- 
gers to  each  other,  but  we  have  met  at  a  point 
where  our  interests  touch.  You  as  the  guard- 
ian of  your  ward,  and  I  as  the  mother  of 


my    son, 


must   have    matters   to   discuss 


8o 


GRISELDA 


together.       Miss    Grant    hai   perhaps  al- 
ready  " 

"    "Yes;    she  has  told  me   thatt  your  son] 
wants  to  marry  her." 

This  was  more  than  Lady  Glenorchiel 
knew,  but  she  did  not  think  it  necessary  to ' 
avow  the  fact. 

"And  you,  as  a  Grayburn  and  a  man  of 
the  world,  can  understand  that  I " 

"Perfectly— from  your  point  of  view.  But  I 
I  must  tell  you  from  the  outset  that  it  is  not 
mine." 

"Then,  I  fear,  my  cause  is  in  danger  of  | 

being  lost." 

"Not  necessarily.     If  I  cannot  fight  with 
you  I  am  not  obliged  to  fight  against  you."  | 
"I  am  not  sure  that  I  understand." 
"I  mean  that  it  is  rare  to  find  two  persons  1 
who  are  wholly  agreed.     Husband  and  wife, 
however  happily  living  together,  often  have 
quite  different  aims.     In  this  case  there  are 
four  of  us,  and  each  has  his  or  her  own  motive  ^ 
and  point  of  view.     No  two  of  us  are  work- 
ing quite  together.     Your  son  is  going  his 
way,  my  ward  is  going  hers;  you  are  going 
your  way  and  I  am  going  mine.     1  repeat 
that  I  cannot  fight  with  you;  but  I  might  | 
help  you  to  powder  and  shot." 


"You 

helpless 
I  want 
about  I 
me  wh 
to  me. 
ously,  ■ 
evasive 

"ICi 

orchie. 

unders 

If  yoi3 

answei 

that  I 

purpo! 

Lad 

Shed' 

was  t 

honor 

might 

"A 

save  1 

her; 

cannc 

that 

mean 

me, 

right 


LDA 

t    has   perhaps  al- 

me   thdt  your  son! 

1   Lady    Glenorchie 
think  it  necessary  to 

^burn  and  a  man  of  | 

nd  that  I " 

r  point  of  view.  But  I 
!  outset  that  it  is  not 

luse  is  in  danger  of  | 

:  I  cannot  fight  with 

0  fight  against  you. " 
understand," 

e  to  find  two  persons 
Husband  and  wife, 
together,  often  have 
[n  this  case  there  are 
his  or  her  own  motive 
)  two  of  us  are  work- 
our  son  is  going  his 
:  hers;  you  are  going 
oing  mine.  1  repeat 
th  you;  but  I  might 

1  shot." 


GRISELDA 


8x 


"You  mystify  me,"  said  Lady  Glenorchie, 
helplessly,  "and  mystery  is  precisely  what 
I  want  to  avoid.  There  is  so  much  of  it 
about  Miss  Grant.  Can  you  not  at  least  tell 
me  who  she  is?  Even  that  would  be  a  help 
to  me.  I  have  tried  to  question  her  courte- 
ously,  but  her  answers  are  either  vague  or 

evasive."  ,    ^    /-.i 

"I  can  tell  you  many  things,  Lady  Glen- 
orchie. But  I  have  already  given  you  to 
understand  that  your  objects  are  not  mine 
If  you  choose  to  ask  me  questions  I  will 
answer  them;  and  yet  I  tell  you  in  advance 
that  I  will  do  so  in  a  way  to  suit  my  own 
purposes  not  to  further  yours." 

Lady  Glenorchie  was  silent  for  a  moment. 
She  did  not  like  the  situation  into  which  she 
was  being  drawn.  She  had  a  high  sense  of 
honor,  and  she  feared  that  her  present  action 
might  not  be  honorable. 

"And  yet,"  she  said  to  herself.  I  must 
save  my  son.  I  don't  blame  him  for  loving 
her-  there  is  in  her  much  to  love.  But  he 
cannot  marry  her.  I  must  keep  him  from 
that  even  if  my  conscience  reproves  the 
means-but  my  conscience  does  not  reprove 
me,"  she  protested  proudly.  "I  am  doing 
right.  I  am  acting  wisely  towards  them  both. 


^  Iw.  1  ' 


83 


GRISELDA 


\>  ■ 


"Then  who  is  this  lady?"  she  asked 
aloud,  with  the  emphasis  of  exasperation. 

Graybum  moved  his  chair  a  little  nearer 
hers  and  spoke  in  a  lower  voice. 

"It  will  hardly  surprise  you,"  he  said,  "to 
learn  that  she  has  been  commonly  called  my 
own  illegitimate  daughter." 

The  effect  of  these  words  on  Lady  Glenor- 
chie  was  that  which  Graybum  had  hoped  to 
product. 

Her  color  rose,  not  to  a  blush,  but  to  a 
pale  point  of  pink  on  each  delicate  white 
cheek.  Her  eyes  flashed  and  her  lips  trem- 
bled. 

"And  this  person  has  been  permitted " 

she  began,  in  indignation. 

"I  was  going  on  to  tell  you,"  said  Gray- 
burn,  calmly,  "that  the  report  was  ridicu- 
lously untrue.  Had  it  not  been  so  absurd  I 
should  not  have  mentioned  it  to  your  lady- 
ship." 

"Then,  may  I  ask  who  her  father 
was?" 

"A  Scotchman.     A  man  of  good  family." 

"Oh,"  said  Lady  Glenorchie,  with  deep- 
ened interest.  "There  are  the  Grants  of 
Grantown.     It  could  not  have  been " 

"No,"  Graybum  said,  speaking  very  dis- 


tinctly 

1  never  b 

"Her 

"Hei 

"Wh 

"Yov 

Ther 

I  the  pii 

burned 

the  sig 

had    a 

I  brougl 

"An 

I  the  loi 

"A 

name, 

"Ai 

"D< 

The 

cheek 

Sheg 

"O 

Gray! 

much 

"B 


1 1.' 


lady?"    she    asked 
J  of  exasperation. 

chair  a  little  nearer 

;r  voice. 

e  you,"  he  said,  "to 

:ommonly  called  my 

jr." 

rds  on  Lady  Glenor- 

lybum  had  hoped  to 

o  a  blush,  but  to  a 
each  delicate  white 
d  and  her  lips  trem- 

jeen  permitted " 

n. 

:ell  you,"  said  Gray- 
!  report  was  ridicu- 
not  been  so  absurd  I 
oned  it  to  your  lady- 

£    who    her    father 

lan  of  good  family." 
jnorchie,  with  deep- 
;  are  the  Grants  of 

t  have  been " 

i,  speaking  very  dis- 


GRISELDA 


83 


Itinctly  and  significantly.      "My  ward  has 
1  never  borne  her  father's  name." 
"Her  mother's,  then?" 

"Her  mother's." 

"Which  means  that  after  all " 

"Your  ladyship  must  guess  the  rest." 
There  was  a  long  silence,  during  which 
the  pink  spot  on  Lady  Glenorchie's  cheek 
burned  into  red.  She  was  but  slowly  seizmg 
the  significance  of  Grayburn's  words.  Never 
had  anything  so  much  like  shame  been 
brought  so  near  her. 

"And  the  mother?"  she  asked,  breaking 
the  long  pause.     "Who  was  she?" 

"A  maidservant  in  a  village  inn.     Her 
name,  too,  was  Griselda  Grant." 

"And  the  father  is ?" 

"Dead.     He  was  hanged  in  America. 
The  spot  of  color  in  Lady  Glenorchie's 
cheek  went  out  like  an  extinguished  light. 
She  grew  very  pale. 

"O  my  God,"  she  murmured,  so  low  that 
Grayburn  did  not  hear  her,  "this  is  too 
much !     My  son  shall  never  come  to  it. ' ' 

"But  her  wealth?"  slie  asked  aloud,  mak- 
ing a  strong  effort  after  self-control.  "She 
is  rich.  Where  do  her  means  come 
from?" 


i1 


I  iP^' 


.H  t' 


84 


GRISELDA 


"She  herself  best  knows  that,"  said  Gray- 
bum,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

Lady  Glenorchie  rose. 

"Tell  me  no  more." 

"I  have  told  you  very  little  of  all  there  is 
to  tell,"  said  Grayburn,  rising  also. 

"And  yet  too  much." 

To  calm  her  agitation  Lady  Glenorchie 
began  to  walk.    Grayburn  paced  beside  her. 

"There  are  other  circumstances "  he 

began. 

"None  that  I  wish  to  know. " 

"And  yet  some  day  you  may  think  that  I 
have  deceived  you.  You  may  judge  me 
harshly " 

"I  shall  never  judge  you  at  all.     When  . 


have  sa^d  my  son " 

"You  will  fling  the  instrument  away." 

"I  shall  always  be  grateful  to  you.  What- 
ever your  motives  may  be  you  have  done  more 
for  me  and  my  house  than  I  can  ever  thank 
you  for." 

"Don't  thank  me.  I  have  been  working 
not  for  you  but  for  myself. " 

"If  your  object  has  been  to  prevent  a 
marriage  between  your  ward  and  my  son,  be 
sure  that  you  have  succeeded.  To-morrow 
he  shall  know  all  that  I  know. ' ' 


wot 

brir 
t( 

wov 
L 

gro' 

tily 
is  s 
Ym 


ure 


reir 

son 

ma; 
it 

eith 
II 

cyn 

ii 

tow 


II II 


ELDA 


T 


GRISELDA 


85 


:nows  that,"  said  Gray- 

'  the  shoulders. 

ise. 

rery  little  of  all  there  is 

•n,  rising  also. 

I." 

Ltion  Lady  Glenorchie 

bum  paced  beside  her. 

circumstances "  he 

to  know." 

,y  you  may  think  that  I 
You  may  judge   me 

ge  you  at  all.     When  . 

instrument  away. " 
g^rateful  to  you.    What- 
r  be  you  have  done  more 
i  than  I  can  ever  thank 

I  have  been  working 
yself." 

as  been  to  prevent  a 
ar  ward  and  my  son,  be 
ucceeded.     To-morrow 
I  know." 


"And  you  think  that  he " 

"I  do  not  think— I  know." 

"That  he  would  give  her  up?" 

"That  he  would  break  his  heart — that  he 
would  break  mine  and  Iv^rs,  before  he  wotild 
bring  a  stain  upon  his  fa  nily's  honor." 

"Then  you  believe  that  the  family's  honor 
would  be  dearer  to  him  than  his  own?" 

Lady  Glenorchie  winced,  but  held  her 
ground. 

"We  will  let  that  pass,"  she  said,  haugh- 
tily. "You  will  pardon  me  if  I  say  that  this 
is  sometling  which  you  cannot  understand. 
You  are  not  the  head  of  a  great  house ' ' 

"I  mean  to  be." 

"You  have  no  sacred  traditions  to  treas- 
ure and  transmit. ' '  n 

"I  shall  create  them." 

"In  any  case,"  she  went  on,  ignoring  his 
remarks,  "I  beg  you  to  believe  that  my 
son's  personal  honor  is  safe  with  him.  He 
may  suffer;  your  ward  may  suffer  too " 

"But  better  that  they  should  do  so  than 
[either  you  or  L" 

"I  do  not  know  whether  that  is  meant  for 
[cynicism  or  cruelty." 

"For  neither.  It  is  one's  natural  attitude 
[towards  life." 


ni 


u 


GRISELDA 


"It  is  not  mine,"  she  protested,   as  she! 
turu.  d  at  the  end  of  the  lawn. 

"'inat  mean;?  only  that  your  ladyship  is 
the  exception  t:;  fhe  rule." 

"I  want  iTiy  son  to  be  happy,  and  I  wisli 
no  ill  to  Misis  Grant.  Their  own  interest 
can  be  served  best  in  keeping  them  apart."! 

"Towards  that  I  shall  do  my  utmost.    Tof 
morrow  my  ward  returns  with  me  to  London."] 

"After   what  we  have  said  it  would 
insincerity  on  my  part  to  beg  her  to  remain.  "I 

"Hereafter  she  shall  be  under  no  protecT 
tion  bt.i  my  own." 

"It  is  needless  to  say  that  I  think  you  axe 

wise." 

"In  the  meantime  it  is  best,  perhaps,  thatj 
no  abrupt  measures  should  be  taken. 

"There  I  entirely  agree  with  you.  Mj 
son  is  of  an  ardent,  not  to  say  romantic,j 
nature.  He  has  much  of  the  old  Scotch 
impulsiveness.  He  must  be  dealt  with 
gently.  If  he  thought  we  meant  to  cross 
him  I  should  not  answer  for  the  conse-| 
quences.  He  would  dare  anything  for  the 
moment,  even  though  he  were  to  regret" 
afterwards." 

She  paused  near  one  of  the  entrit-S  to  the 

house. 


'"SSSK 


f.i 


SELDA 

'  she  protested,  as  she 

the  lawn. 

y  that  your  ladyship  is 

rule." 

to  be  happy,  and  I  wishi 
t.  Their  own  interest 
in  keeping  them  apart"! 
shall  do  my  utmost.  To-[ 
urns  with  me  to  London, 
have  said  it  would 
art  to  beg  her  to  remain.  "I 
hall  be  under  no  protecj 

say  that  I  think  you  axe 

e  it  is  best,  perhaps,  thatj 
should  be  taken." 
y  agree  with  you.  Mj 
It,  not  to  say  romantic,] 
nuch  of  the  old  Scotch 
e  must  be  dealt  with 
ught  we  meant  to  crossl 
answer  for  the  conse-| 
Id  dare  anything  for  the 
igh  he  were  to  regret : 


one  of  the  entrioH  to  thej 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


^  us,    12.0 


1.8 


L2^  il-4    11.6 


d'  i 


HiotDgraphic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


v 


23  WIST  MAIN  STRICT 

WIBSTIR.N.Y.  M580 

(716)  872-4503 


4^  ^ 


"Ss^lfir'Tiamiiiiniwswi 


A 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


i^- 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Instltut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


GRISELDA 


87 


"Then,"  said  Gray  burn,  "with  your  per- 
mission I  shall  come  to  dinner,  and  my  ward 
will  stay  to-night.  Her  going  away  to-mor- 
row will  then' take  place  in  a  manne:  *o  cause 
no  remark." 

"And  when  she  has  gone  I  shall  tell  my 
son  what  I  have  learned  from  you.  I  shall 
treat  it  as  a  confidence  towards  every  one 
else,  but  I  must  let  him  know." 

"I  am  sure  I  can  trust  to  your  ladyship's 
discretion." 

"And  I  to  yours." 

"And  you  ♦o  mine." 

"We  shall  see  you,  then,  this  evening," 
she  said,  in  the  tone  of  a  royal  person  bring- 
ing an  interview  to  an  end. 

"It  will  give  me  great  pleasure,"  he  said, 
with  a  bow. 

Lady  Glenorchie  acknowledged  the  salute 
with  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head. 

Graybum  looked  after  the  fragile,  queenly 
woman  as  she  went  up  the  steps  and  entered 
the  house. 

"Your  ladyship,  too,"  he  said  to  himself, 
with  a  little  silent  laugh,  "would  try  her 
hand  at  the  game  of  life.  But  only  the 
experienced  player  wins." 

Lady    Glenorchie    passed    through    the 


'M 


il 


GRISELDA 


library  into  the  great  hall,  and  then  up  the 
white  marble  stairway.  She  carried  her- 
self like  Catherine  of  Arragon  sweeping 
out  of  the  court  against  whose  jurisdiction 
she  protested.  For  Lady  Glenorchie  was 
being  tried  by  a  judge  who  had  taken  the 
side  against  her.    She  already  knew  herself 

&CCtlS6U 

"Better  that  they  should  suffer  than  you 
or  I!  Is  that  your  argument?"  demanded 
sternly  the  Voice  which  haled  her  before 
its  own  tribunal. 

"I  never  said  so,"  she  made  silent  answer. 
"It  was  he.  I  do  not  flee  from  suflfering; 
I  shrink  only  from  dishonor." 

''You  talk  of  dishonor,"  pursued  the 
inexorable  Voice.     "Is  it  no  dishonor  to 

plot ?" 

"I  have  not  plotted,"  she  asserted  wildly. 
"It  is  false.  I  could  not  so  demean  my- 
self." 

"To  plot,"  the  Voice  went  on,  "the  ruin 
of  a  young  girl's  name,  and  her  degrada- 
tion in  the  eyes  of  the  man  who  loves  her. " 

"He  is  my  son.     I  must  save  him. " 

"You  are  doing  wrong.  You  are  doing 
wrong.     You  are  doing  wrong. 

"No,  no,  no.     It  is  right.     I  will  do  it.     1 


SELDA 

jat  hall,  and  then  up  the 
:way.  She  carried  her- 
e  of  Arragon  sweeping 
gainst  whose  jurisdiction 
•r  Lady  Glenorchie  was 
judge  who  had  taken  the 
She  already  knew  herself 

jy  should  suffer  than  you 

ir  argument?"  demanded 

which  haled  her  before 

"  she  made  silent  answer, 
not  flee  from  suffering; 
dishonor." 

dishonor,"   pursued    the 
"Is  it  no  dishonor  to 

tted,"  she  asserted  wildly, 
ould  not  so  demean  my- 

Voice  went  on,  "the  ruin 
name,  and  her  degrada- 

f  the  man  who  loves  her. " 
I  must  save  him." 

g  wrong.     You  are  doing 

doing  wrong." 

:t  is  right.     I  will  do  it.     I 


GRISELDA 


89 


I  must  know.     I  will  do  it. 


am  his  mother. 
I  will  do  it." 

"You  are  doing  wrong.  You  are  doing 
wrong.  You  are  doing  wrong,"  the  Voice 
continued,  like  the  tolling  of  a  bell,  the 
sound  of  which  grew  fainter  and  fainter  as 
Lady  Glenorchie  muffled  her  ears  and  fled. 


VII 

The  billiard-room  at  Lomond  Lodge  was  a 
large,  square  hall,  used  as  the  entrance  to 
the  northern  portion  of  the  house     In  the 
centre  was  the  green-covered  table,  while 
along  the  walls  were  divans  and  arm-chairs 
The   walls   themselves  were  adorned  with 
antique  arms  symmetrically  arranged,     ihe 
effect  was  somewhat  gloomy,  the  room  being 
lighted  only  from  the  northern  embrasure,! 
wfere  there  was  one  large  window  of  Tudor] 
Gothic  style.    The  arms  of  the  family  c 
Tulloch  emblazoned  in  the  upper  panes  gave 
a  touch  of  gorgeous  color  to  an  apartment 
which  would  otherwise  have  been  sombre. 

In  the  embrasure  was  a  soft  and  temptmg 
window-seat,  where  Lomond  and  Mangnan 
lounging  together,  were  idly  matching  tl^ 
setting  sun  touch  with  its  horizontal  ray 
the  dLant  trees  of  Windsor  Forest^  The 
had  put  away  their  cues,  and  had  begun  t( 

^"paui  de  Marignan  was  the  man  whom  Lo 
tnond  loved  and  respected  more  than  anj 

90 


-(##■: 


GRISELDA 


91 


VII 

■n  at  Lomond  Lodge  was  a 
[,  used  as  the  entrance  to 
ion  of  the  house.  In  the 
Teen-covered  table,  while 
sre  divans  and  arm-chairs, 
selves  were  adorned  with 
metrically  arranged.     The 


other.  Nowhere  could  Marignan  have  been 
I  taken  for  anything  but  a  Frenchman,  His 
regular  features,  his  soft  brown  eyes,  his 
black,  pointed  beard,  his  carefully  curved 
moustache,  were  all  as  foreign  as  his  vivac- 
ity, and  as  his  accent  in  speaking  English. 
Of  unusual  height,  of  gigantic  strength,  he 
was  also  strikingly  handsome.  He  was  con- 
scious of  this,  and  yet  was  not  vain. 

Always  successful,  he  had  one  of  those 
natures  which  success  does  not  spoil.  From 
SrgloomVrireTo'ombeinglthe  day  when  he  had  won  the  Prix  de  Rome 
n  the  northern  embrasure  J  he  had  never  known  anythmg  of  the  hard- 
,ne  large  window  of  Tudorl  ships   of    struggle. 

hp  arms  of  the  family  c 

led  in  the  upper  panes  gavek  easily;  and  perhaps  for  that  very  reason  had 
ous  color  to  an  apartment!  never  lost  the  simplicity  of  character  and  the 
'rwise  have  been  sombre.   |sweetness  of  temper  which  had  come  with 
ire  was  a  soft  and  temptini 
ere  Lomond  and  Marignan 
er,  were  idly  watching  the 
ih'with  its  horizontal  rayi 

s  of  Windsor  Forest.     The]  .•       1,        ^  ■     .,     ^ 

>,.ir  cues  and  had  begun  t(  always  open  to  suggestion,  he  retained  at 
^^  '  five  and  forty  the  buoyancy  of  twenty-five. 

Marignan's  fame  as  a  portrait  ppinter  had 


.nything 
or    of    the    bitterness 
He  had  gained  his  triumphs 


him  into  the  world.  Affectionate,  and  not 
afraid  of  seeming  so,  he  won  affection  in  re- 
turn. An  enthusiastic  admirer  of  the  art  of 
others,  he  disarmed  jealously  towards  his 
own.      Always  in  sympathy  with    youth. 


■nan  was  the  man  whom  Lo  ..     1    ^  * 

i  respected  more  than  anibeen  steadily  growing  during  the  last  ten 

90 


lyears. 


a  certain  combination  of  realism 


«iMiaj«iaaR«ea«M9«i«3»>- 


93 


GRISELDA 


with  idealism  he  now  5tood  without  a 
rival  in  Europe.  To  this  success  his  own 
native  goodness  contributed  more,  perhaps, 
than  his  technique  or  his  eye  for  color 
and  pose.  He  was  a  painter  of  charac- 
ter; he  made  his  subjects  live;  they  not 
only  appealed  to  the  eye,  but  they  haunted 
the  memory.  In  the  face  that  looked 
out  from  one  of  Marignan's  canvases  the 
spectator  felt  there  was  a  soul;  in  that  soul 
he  saw  noble  possibilities. 

"Can  that  be  the  frivolous,  reckless, 
worldly  Madame  de  Bresle?"  had  been  asked 
at  the  Salon,  "that  woman  whose  mouth  is 
all  intensity,  and  whose  eyes  are  the  expres- 
sion of  exalted  aspiration?" 

It  was  because  Marignan  had  set  forth 

his  subject's  character  not  wholly  as  it  was, 

but  as  it  was  struggling  to  be;  not  as  it  was 

seen  by  the  world,  but  as  it  was  known  to 

him.      Here  was  the  secret  of  his  power. 

1  He  believed  in  men  and  women;  he  took 

I  them  at  their  best  and  gave  them  in  like 

I  manner.     The  foolish  woman  was  set  forth 

in  her  affection,  the  swaggering  youth  in  his 

courage,  the  cynical  old  man  in  his  hidden, 

unsuspected  kindliness.     It  was  not  flattery ; 

it  was  truth — truth  which  often  surprised, 


lELDA 


GRISELDA 


93 


now  5tood  without  a 
J  this  success  his  own 
ributea  more,  perhaps, 
or   his   eye  for   color 

a  painter  of  charac- 
ubjects  live;  they  not 

eye,  but  they  haunted 
the  face  that  looked 
arignan's  canvases  the 
was  a  soul ;  in  that  soul 
ities. 

lie  frivolous,  reckless, 
Bresle?"  had  been  asked 
woman  whose  mouth  is 
ose  eyes  are  the  expres- 
sion?" 

larignan  had  set  forth 
;er  not  wholly  as  it  was, 
ling  to  be;  not  as  it  was 
but  as  it  was  known  to 
le  secret  of  his  power. 
a  and  women;  he  took 
and  gave  them  in  like 
sh  woman  was  set  forth 
swaggering  youth  in  his 
I  old  man  in  his  hidden, 
5ss.     It  was  not  flattery ; 

which  often  surprised, 


and  more  often  shamed,  the  person  of 
whom  it  was  told. 

"It  is  not  myself,  it  is  what  I  ought  to  be, " 
was  a  remark  not  seldom  made. 

"It  is  what  I  want  to  become,"  was  gen- 
erally a  subsequent  reflection. 

"I  paint  you  as  I  know  you  to  be,"  Marig- 
nan  had  often  said  to  Lomond. 

This  was  at  the  beginning  of  their  ac- 
quaintance three  years  ago. 

At  that  time  Marignan  had  just  held  his 
first  exhibition  in  London.  His  fame  had 
come  before  him,  and  his  recognition  fol- 
lowed after.  His  work,  which  was  neither 
daring,  glaring,  nor  guilty  of  violent  strain- 
ing to  catch  the  eye,  appealed  to  what  was 
most  serious  and  elevated  in  the  English 
taste.  His  men  and  women  seemed  in  the 
beholder's  imagination,  to  take  their  place 
at  once  in  the  long  procession  of  noble 
knights  and  dames  with  which  Titian,  Van 
Dyke,  Reynolds,  and  Gainsborough  have 
enriched  the  world. 

Lady  Glenorchie,  herself  a  connoisseur, 
had  made  a  special  journey  to  town  to  see 
the  collection.  She  then  begged  Marignan 
to  paint  her  son  in  Highland  dress.  The 
result  was  the  life-sized  portrait  which  the 


iMmummmmMnmmmtmm)BmmmMmm»iSMami!ti»'' 


94 


GRISELDA 


Parisians  called  "Le  bel  Ecossais,"  the  most 
impressive  picture  in  the  Salon  of  the  fol- 
lowing year. 

After  a  first  disappointment  Lady  Glenor- 
chie  had  come  to  love  this  portrait  above 
everything  else  that  she  possessed.  It  had 
been  meant  for  Glenorchie  Castle,  but  she 
had  kept  it  near  her  at  Rusthall  Court,  and 
had  recently  removed  it  to  Lomond  Lodge. 
Here,  from  its  position  at  the  branching  of 
the  white  marble  staircase  in  the  great  hall, 
it  seemed  to  preside  over  the  ten  genera- 
tions of  the  house  of  Tulloch,  whose  repre- 
sentatives, beginning  with  Kenneth,  Earl  of 
Lomond,  painted  by  Holbein,  lined  the 
walls. 

It  is  true  that  her  son's  portrait  was  not 
what  Lady  Glenorchie  had  expected.  She 
had  had  in  mind  a  vision  of  a  proud  Highland 
chief,  a  mingling  of  Ossian,  Prince  Charlie, 
and  Rob  Roy.  Lomond,  on  the  other  hand, 
had  pictured  himself  with  the  air  of  a  young 
Scotch  Londoner,  at  a  Royal  Caledonian 
ball.  At  first  neither  he  nor  his  mother 
was  quite  satisfied,  though  they  both  came 
to  see  their  mistake. 

"Le  bel  Ecossais"  was  a  tall,  firmly-built 
young  man  crossing  an  upland  moor,  the 


ELDA 

bel  Ecossais,"  the  most 
I  the  Salon  of  the  fol- 

ointment  Lady  Glenor- 
ve  this  portrait  above 
she  possessed.  It  had 
lorchie  Castle,  but  she 
at  Rusthall  Court,  and 
d  it  to  Lomond  Lodge, 
ion  at  the  branching  of 
Tcase  in  the  great  hall, 
i  over  the  ten  genera- 
f  Tulloch,  whose  repre- 
with  Kenneth,  Earl  of 
>y    Holbein,   lined  the 

r  son's  portrait  was  not 
lie  had  expected.  She 
ion  of  a  proud  Highland 
Ossian,  Prince  Charlie, 
ond,  on  the  other  hand, 
with  the  air  of  a  young 
it  a  Royal  Caledonian 
ler  he  nor  his  mother 
though  they  both  came 

'  was  a  tall,  firmly-built 
:  an  upland  moor,  the 


GRISELDA 


95 


heather  of  which  formed  the  reddish  purple 
background.  A  collie  lay  panting  at  his 
master's  feet,  and  another  bounded  after  a 
bird.  The  young  laird's  pose  was  absolutely 
simple;  he  had  paused  in  his  walk,  and, 
leaning  on  the  stout  stick  he  carried,  was 
looking  towards  the  spectator.  The  narrow 
turrets  of  Glenorchie  Castle  were  just  visible 
in  the  distance.  Lomond  had  pleaded  for  a 
gun  as  a  detail  to  go  with  the  bird  and  the 
dog,  but  Marignan  had  been  inexorable. 

"It  would  make  my  portrait,"  he  said, 
"like  any  of  the  grouse-shooting,  deer-stalk- 
ing pictures,  of  which  you  have  so  many  in 
your  Royal  Academy.  Here  you  are  the 
Scotch  lord  of  the  times  of  peace,  walking 
over  his  own  lands,  breathing  the  air  of  the 
mountains,  and  crushing  the  heather  all  the 
Scotchmen  love.  I  give  you  no  gun ;  I  give 
you  no  wild  servants  with  sandwiches  and 
whisky.  I  paint  you  as  I  know  you  to  be. 
Every  one  who  sees  you  will  say,  'This  is 
Nigel  Graham.  This  is  his  self  and 
soul.'  " 

And  every  one  who  saw  this  portrait  said 
so.  Instinctively  the  eye  turned  away  from 
the  marvelously  painted  details — from  the 
upland  landscape,  from  the  dog  panting  in 


:\ 


.!  (". 


li-i- 


96 


GRISELDA 


the  heather,  from  the  picturesque  Highland 
costume-and  fixed  itself  on  the  face  which 
turned  its  gaze  toward  you.     It  was  more 
than  the  Lomond  you  knew ;  it  was  the  Lom- 
ond  you   divined.      It  was   more  than  a 
handsome,  blue-eyed,  blond  young  man;  it 
was  a  strong,  modest,  loyal  nature.     It  was 
a  face  to  honor,  admire,  and  love.    One  felt 
in  it  the  presence  not  of  a  great  intellect, 
but  of  a  great  heart.   The  features  were  not 
without  their  touch  of  pride,  but  a  pride 
tempered  with  tenderness.     The  forehead, 
under  the  jauntily-set  Scotch  bonnet,  was 
broad  and  white,  and  the  fair  hair  showed 
about  the  temples ;  the  blue  eyes  were  grave ; 
the   nostrils  sensitive  and  finely  cut;    the 
mouth,  beneath  the  long,  fair  moustache, 
was  firm;  the  chin  strong,  and  dented  by  a 
slightly  showing  dimple.     It  was  the  face 
of  a  good  fighter,  but  a  faithful  friend.     It 
might  lack  originality;  but  it  was  wanting 
in  nothing  that  belongs  to  courage  and  up- 
rightness, honor  and  love.     The  brush  of 
the  artist  showed  at  a  glance  what  could 
only  have  been  learned  otherwise  in  years 
of  friendship. 

First,  in  the  painting  of  this  picture,  after- 
wards  in  visits  made  by  Lomond  to  Paris, 


•  ^■»«u**-^#«MiW 


ELDA 

picturesque  Highland 
tself  on  the  face  which 
ird  you.     It  was  more 
knew ;  it  was  the  Lom- 
It  was   more  than  a 
,  blond  young  man;  it 
t,  loyal  nature.     It  was 
ire,  and  love.    One  felt 
lot  of  a  great  intellect, 
The  features  were  not 
of  pride,  but  a  pride 
erness.     The  forehead, 
set  Scotch  bonnet,  was 
nd  the  fair  hair  showed 
he  blue  eyes  were  grave; 
te  and  finely  cut;    the 
;  long,  fair  moustache, 
strong,  and  dented  by  a 
mple.     It  was  the  face 
but  a  faithful  friend.     It 
lity ;  but  it  was  wanting 
longs  to  courage  and  up- 
id  love.     The  brush  of 
at  a  glance  what  could 
arned  otherwise  in  years 

ting  of  this  picture,  after- 
ide  by  Lomond  to  Paris, 


GRISELDA 


n 


and  seasons  spent  by  Marignan  in  England, 
the  acquaintance  between  the  two  men  gave 
place  to  intimacy.  Now,  in  spite  of  the  fif- 
teen years  of  difference  in  age,  there  was 
little  that  concerned  the  one  into  which  the 
other  did  not  enter.  On  Marignan 's  part 
this  regard  was  deeper  than  Lomond  was 
aware  of;  it  was  more  than  friendship;  it 
was  a  deeply-rooted  affection.  Among  the 
painter's  most  sacred  possessions,  which  he 
carried  with  him  everywhere,  was  a  simple 
photograph  of  "Le  bel  Ecossais,"  under 
which  was  written  the  line  from  the  Vul- 
gate, Intuitus  eum,  dilexii  eum  —  words 
which  had  often  floated  through  Marignan's 
memory  in  the  days  when  the  young  man 
had  sat  hour  after  hour  before  him,  and  the 
portrait  had  taken  form. 

During  the  present  visit  to  Lomond  Lodge, 
Marignan  had  not  been  blind  to  the  silent 
drama  which  was  being  played  beneath  his 
eyes.  He  was  too  close  an  observer  not  to 
have  remarked  the  position  in  which  Lom- 
ond, his  mother,  and  Griselda  stood  towards 
each  other. 

"I  know  what  is  the  matter,"  he  said  sud- 
denly,  after  a  long  silence,  as  the  two  sat 
smoking  in  the  large  embrasure. 


r^? 


leMeebinsinw 


iiasiaaM»iS«»«D»,«j«5Busarw(w»M!i»«ii*3«A;.>-. 


98 


GRISELDA 


"With  whom?"  Lomond  asked,  turning  to 
look  his  friend  in  the  face. 

"With  you,"  Marignan  answered.  "With 
you  and  Madame  de  Glenorchie  and— and 
some  one  else. ' ' 

"Perhaps  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Lom- 
ond, who  wished  to  speak  frankly,  but 
dreaded  making  confidences. 

"But  I  do,"  said  Marignan,  putting  down 
his  cigarette,  and  laying  his  hand  lightly 
on  Lomond's  knee.  "I  do  understand.  I 
see,     I  know. ' ' 

"You  know  what?" 

"That  you  have  come  to  the  point  which 
a  man  reaches  only  once  in  his  lifetime.  Do 
not  be  angry,  mo?t  petit.  Let  me  give  you 
my  counsels  as  I  would  take  yours." 

"Paries,  mon  ami,"  said  Lomond,  gently, 
speaking  in  French  in  order  to  use  the  famil- 
iar and  affectionate  tu.  "Dis-moi  tout  ce 
que  tu  veux. ' ' 

"I  will,"  said  Marignan.  "It  is  the  part 
of  a  friend  that  I  play.  I  see  you  hesitate; 
I  see  you  suffer ;  I  see  others  suffer.  I  must 
speak.  For  the  first  time  you  love.  Is  it 
not  true?" 

Lomond  drew  a  hard  breath. 

"Yes,  •  *  he  said,  in  a  voice  scarcely  audible. 


It: 


ELDA 

tnond  asked,  turning  to 
face. 

jnan  answered.  "With 
J  Glenorchie  and — and 

inderstand, ' '  said  Lom- 
>  speak  frankly,  but 
idences. 

larignan,  putting  down 

lying  his  hand  lightly 

"I  do  understand.     I 


jome  to  the  point  which 
nee  in  his  lifetime.  Do 
etit.  Let  me  give  you 
lid  take  yours." 
"  said  Lomond,  gently, 
a  order  to  use  the  famil- 
tu,     "Dis-moi  tout  ce 

rignan.  "It  is  the  part 
lay.  I  see  you  hesitate ; 
ee  others  suffer.  I  must 
it  time  you  love.     Is  it 

ird  breath. 

a  voice  scarcely  audible. 


GRISELDA 


99 


"And  she  loves  you." 

"I  don't  know." 

"I  know.  I  have  seen  that  too.  Many 
times  I  have  wished  to  paint  her  with  that 
expression  in  her  face.  Oh,  she  did  not 
know  that  I  regarded  her.  But  I  am  like  a 
robber;  I  steal  the  secrets  that  one  would 
keep  hidden  from  all  the  world.  My  eye  is 
habituated  to  observe,  and  I  am  sure  the  day 
has  come  for  you  both.  Madame  de  Glen- 
orchie, she  knows  it  too." 

There  was  another  pause. 

"What  then?"  Lomond  asked.  "What 
are  your  counsels. ' ' 

"Perhaps  I  was  wrong  to  speak  of  coun- 
sels," Marignan  went  on.  "Perhaps  I  have 
none  to  give.  I  know  but  one  thing.  I 
will  tell  it  you.  The  best  thing  in  life  is 
love.  It  is  more  than  the  best,  it  is  the  most 
essential.  It  is  to  life  what  health  is  to  the 
body,  what  beauty  is  to  art,  what  the  voice 
is  to  song.  There  are  many  kinds  of  love, 
and  there  are  many  kinds  of  people.  Some 
content  themselves  with  one  kind,  and  some 
with  another.  Some  can  love  many  times, 
and  some  but  once.  And  you  are  like  the 
last;  and  she  is  like  the  last.  I  study  faces; 
I  study  souls.     I  see  that  in  you  both. 


«fc'JiiGM^<%  f9miiifl'^*^^i^iliiS^^^i^imSi ' 


lOO 


GRISELDA 


.;  "What    would  you  do,   then?"   Lomond 

;  asked. 

,'  "I  would  seize  quickly  the  one  chance  life 

<i  means  to  offer  me,  before  it  is  taken  back. 

ii  You  are  not  a  boy  to  love  a  few  days,  and 

ii  then  to  change.     You  know  you  will  never 

change.     She  too  will  never  change.     It  is 

I  the  fatal  moment  for  each  of  you.     I  see. 

J|  I  know.  Why  should  you  be  unhappy,  when 

!'ji;  life  holds  for  you  such  joy?" 

If  "But  my  mother?    She  would  never  con- 

Ijjj  sent.     It  would  kill  her." 

i|  "Some  one  must  suffer.     It  is  better  that 

it  should  be  one  person  and  not  three." 
"  But  I  owe  her  so  much. ' ' 
"Less  in  this  matter  than  she  owes  you. 
Besides,  nothing  can  prevent  her  suffering. 
When   she  sees  that  you  have  renounced 
your  love  for  her,  can  she  be  happy?    No, 
man  petit,  never.     It  is  not  in  a  mother  to 
build  her  happiness  on  her  son's  lifelong 
sorrow.     In  the  end  it  will  cost  her  less  to 
accept  your  decision  than  to  make  you  bow 
to  hers." 

"I  wish  I  could  think  so.     But  if  she 

should  refuse  to  build  her  happiness  on  my 

suffering,  why  should  I  build  mine  on  hers?" 

"Listen  to  what  I  will  tell  you.    You  will 


,!(  i 


ELDA 


GRISELDA 


101 


I  do,  then?"   Lomond 

:kly  the  one  chance  life 
before  it  is  taken  back, 
to  love  a  few  days,  and 
)u  know  you  will  never 
ill  never  change.  It  is 
jr  each  of  you.  I  see. 
you  be  unhappy,  when 
h  joy?" 

She  would  never  con- 
ler." 

suffer.     It  is  better  that 
5on  and  not  three." 
much." 

,tter  than  she  owes  you. 
n  prevent  her  suflEering. 
t  you  have  renounced 
:an  she  be  happy?  No, 
[t  is  not  in  a  mother  to 
i  on  her  son's  lifelong 
i  it  will  cost  her  less  to 
1  than  to  make  you  bow 

think  so.  But  if  she 
lild  her  happiness  on  my 
d  I  build  mine  on  hers?" 
:  will  tell  you.    You  will 


see  that  when  a  man  misses  his  one  chance 
of  love  it  never  comes  again.  There  is  a 
little  story  in  my  life.  No  one  knows  it  now 
but  me.  To  no  one  would  I  tell  it  but  to 
you.  You  have  heard  of  the  Vicomtesse  de 
Pr^gny?  Yes,  the  original  of  the  beautiful 
portrait  in  the  Luxembourg.  That  picture 
keeps  her  name  alive,  but  she  herself  is  for- 
gotten. I  alone  remember.  I  will  never 
forget." 

There  was  a  pause.  Marignan,  turning 
away,  looked  for  a  few  moments  towards 
the  distant  forest 

"The  Vicomtesse  de  Pr6gny,"  he  went  on 
at  last,  "was  Jeanne  de  la  K6rouaille,  of  a 
great  family  in  Brittany.  She  had  but  lately 
left  the  convent  when  a  marriage  was  ar- 
ranged  for  her  with  my  best  friend,  Henri 
de  Pr^gny.  Henri  and  I  had  been  like  broth- 
ers, and  so  the  Marquise  de  la  K6rouaille 
invited  me  to  pass  some  days  with  him  at 
the  Breton  chateau.  It  was  but  a  month 
before  the  marriage.  Mademoiselle  de  la 
K^rouaille  had  seen  Henri  but  a  few  times. 
She  did  not  know  him.  She  did  not  love 
him.  She  was  twenty;  I  was  twenty-eight. 
You  know  what  1  mean  to  tell  you?" 

•*I  can  guess,"  said  Lomond. 


rK^tesa^^^ssi^j 


I;'! 


iilJ! 


taa 


GRISELDA 


iU 


7' I 


III 


"It  came  quickly — love.  I  was  but  a  few 
days  there  when  we  understood — each  of  us. 
I  need  not  say  she  was  beautiful.  You 
have  seen  her  portrait.  Yes,  she  was  calm 
like  that ;  even  as  a  young  girl  she  had  that 
noble  air,  that  something  pure  and  exalted 
which  few  women  have.  We  were  never 
alone  together — not  then.  It  is  not  possible 
in  France.  It  is  not  as  it  is  in  England. 
We  talked  only  before  all  the  world,  but  we 
spoke  frankly  and  heart  to  heart.  We 
agreed  that  she  must  go  on,  that  she  must 
marry  Henri  and  obey  her  parents.  Noth- 
ing else  seemed  possible.  We  thought  it  our 
duty  to  renounce  each  other,  to  suffer  rather 
than  make  others  suffer.  And  it  was  all  so 
useless!  We  learned  that  when  it  was  too 
late.  We  saved  nobody,  and  we  destroyed 
ourselves." 

Marignan  spoke  rapidly,  almost  passion- 
ately, with  gestures  of  pleading  and  persua- 
sion. He  was  not  making  a  confidence,  he 
was  only  citing  an  example. 

"After  the  marriage  they  came  to  live  in 
Paris — naturally.  We  could  not  but  meet. 
We  met  often,  always.  At  first  we  tried  to 
ignore  what  we  had  said  in  Brittany,  to  for- 
get, to  be  friends  and  no  more.     But  it  was 


5ELDA 

-love.  I  was  but  a  few 
understood — each  of  us. 
:  was  beautiful.  You 
ait.  Yes,  she  was  calm 
young  girl  she  had  that 
ithing  pure  and  exalted 
have.  We  were  never 
then.  It  is  not  possible 
ot  as  it  is  in  England, 
re  all  the  world,  but  we 
heart  to  heart.  We 
ist  go  on,  that  she  must 
bey  her  parents.  Noth- 
ible.  We  thought  it  our 
;h  other,  to  suffer  rather 
iffer.  And  it  was  all  so 
id  that  when  it  was  too 
body,  and  we  destroyed 

rapidly,  almost  passion- 
of  pleading  and  persua- 
making  a  confidence,  he 
sample. 

age  they  came  to  live  in 
Ve  could  not  but  meet. 
lys.  At  first  we  tried  to 
said  in  Brittany,  to  for- 
ttd  no  more.     But  it  was 


GRISELDA 


103 


not  possible.  You  understand  that.  Two 
years  went  by,  years  of  martyrdom  on  both 
sides.  I  left  Paris  twice,  but  I  could  not 
stay  away.  The  worst  was  that  we  had 
spoiled  our  lives  for  nothing.  Henri  was 
proud  of  her;  he  did  not  love  her — no, 
never.  He  did  not  care  that  she  had  no 
love  for  him.  We  made  a  mistake  from  the 
beginning.  Had  she  refused  to  marry  him 
there  would  have  been  trouble,  but  it  would 
have  passed.  Her  parents  would  have  been 
angry,  and  Henri  wounded  in  his  pride ;  no 
more  than  that.  But  now  there  was  no 
escape,  no  refuge,  no  hope.  At  last  it  could 
not  be  longer  borne.  She  left  Paris;  she 
went  to  Pr^gny,  not  to  return.  I  never  saw 
her  any  more." 

"And  now?"  Lomond  asked,  softly. 

"She  is  dead.  Five  years  ago  she  was  a 
widow.  I  wrote,  praying  her  to  let  me  come 
to  her.  But  it  was  always  too  late.  She 
was  already  suffering  from  her  last  malady. 
They  told  me  she  had  much  changed,  that 
she  had  lost  all  her  beauty.  She  would  not 
that  I  who  had  known  her  as  you  see  her  in 
the  Luxembourg  should  see  her  as  she  was. 
And  so  she  died.  It  was  too  late.  But  it 
was  my  one  time  in  life'  my  only  time.     It 


.»  1 


if' 
'  'J 


M 


aMettattwuM»s«K^M>S9H 


,o4  GRISELDA 

was  a  great  mistake;  ^-t  when  I  would  not 
seize  the  golden  cup  it  passed  me  by.    S mce 
then  all  women  to  me  are  the  same      I  love 
none      I  have  no  more  love.    It  is  all  given 
Thave  had  a  good  life.    I  have  |amed  much 
success    and  a  little  honor.     But  it  is  like 
he  be;utiful  setting  out  of  which  the  jewel 
hat  been  lost.     And  I  would  not.  man  petit 
that  you  should  lose  it  too.     That  is  why  I 
pea/and  tell  you  this  old  history.     It  is  to 
save  you  from  mistake.     Madame  de  Glen- 
o'chie  will  suffer  whichever  thing  you  do^ 
Tl  she  needs  to  suffer;  she  is  too  hard    oo 
oroud-  it  will  be  better  in  the  end.    But  the 
Cgg\e  caused  by  giving  you  your  happi- 
ness w^  be  easier  to  bear  than  her  terrible 
remorse  in  taking  it  away. 

When  Marignan  ceased  they  sat  a  long 
time  in  silence     Then  Lomond  rose  and  laid 

hifhand  gently  on  his  ^^^^1^^^^''^^ 
"Thank  you,  dear  old  fellow,  he  said, 
looJng  do^n  into  the  painter's  soft  brown 
eves  His  own  eyes  were  moist,  and  there 
wTa  tremor  in  his  voice.  "Thank  you  for 
TeUing  me  all  this.  I  expect  it  has  been 
ptuy  hard,  but  with  me  it  will  be  sacred^ 

"My  mistake  will  have  been   partly  re- 
deemed." said  Marignan,  as  he  looked  up 


-111! 


m 


5LDA 

but  when  I  would  not 
,  passed  me  by.  Since 
are  the  same.  I  love 
elove.  It  is  all  given. 
I  have  gained  much 
honor.  But  it  is  like 
out  of  which  the  jewel 
;  would  not,  mon  petit, 
it  too.  That  is  why  I 
is  old  history.  It  is  to 
,ke.  Madame  de  Glen- 
hichever  thing  you  do. 
:er;  she  is  too  hard,  too 
:erintheend.  But  the 
giving  you  your  happi- 
0  bear  than  her  terrible 

away." 

:eased  they  sat  a  long 
jn  Lomond  rose  and  laid 
lis  friend's  shoulder. 
,r  old  fellow,"  he  said, 
the  painter's  soft  brown 
3S  were  moist,  and  there 
voice.     "Thank  you  for 
I  expect  it  has  been 
ith  me  it  will  be  sacred." 
II  have  been   partly  re- 
rignan,  as  he  looked  up 


GRISELDA 


105 


into  the  young  Scotchman's  grave,  pale  face, 
"when  it  has  prevented  yours." 

"I  will  try  to  make  none,"  said  Lomond, 
as  he  turned  away.  "I  am  resolved.  And 
thank  you  once  again." 

Marignan  watched  him  as  he  crossed  the 
large  hall,  in  which  it  had  now  grown 
almost  dark. 

**Intuitus  eutn,  dilexit  eum"  he  mur- 
mured, under  his  breath,  and  sighed. 

Then  he  turned  to  watch  the  last  lilac- 
tinted  sunset  glow  fade  out  of  the  western 
sky. 


^ 


ii, ' 

'I ' 
1  \ 


piiinnx'nir-iiir-"^  '■^m^*-''' 


M  ^<*waw9i>evtiw>aw<win^wiji»'.ii^if  ■<«ww^ii'>w»^ 


U'fisrtww  ft^^ir-" 


f 


^!f' 


f  1 


VIII 

Griselda  Grant,  on  leaving  the  lawn  after 
tea,  bore  herself  steadily  till  the  door  of  her 
room  was  closed  and  locked.  Then  she 
threw  herself  face  downwards  on  a  couch 
and  sobbed.  While  the  eyes  of  others  were 
upon  her  she  had  nerved  herself  to  be  calm, 
to  look  as  though  nothing  unusual  were  hap- 
pening, to  speak  as  though  the  conversation 
of  the  moment  were  her  only  thought.  Now 
she  could  bear  up  no  longer. 

She  felt  very  lonely.  There  had  been 
many  moments  in  her  life  when  she  had 
realized  the  bitterness  of  being  fatherless 
and  motherless;  but  Graybum  had  been 
always  there  as  a  protecting  power,  and  she 
could  turn  to  him.  Now  even  he  had  failed 
her.  She  had  reached  a  point  where  her 
natural  self-reliance  seemed  insufficient. 
She  longed  for  some  one  to  show  her  the 
way,  and  there  was  no  one  in  whose  counsel 
or  affection  she  could  take  refuge.  She 
must  fight  her  battle  and  decide  her  course 
alone;    and   for  the  moment  the  necessity 

io6 


GRISELDA 


107 


III 

eaving  the  lawn  after 
iily  till  the  door  of  her 
d  locked.  Then  she 
ownwards  on  a  couch 
he  eyes  of  others  were 
ved  herself  to  be  calm, 
hing  unusual  were  hap- 
tiough  the  conversation 
her  only  thought.  Now 
longer. 

sly.  There  had  been 
lier  life  when  she  had 
•ss  of  being  fatherless 
t  Gray  bum  had  been 
stecting  power,  and  she 
Now  even  he  had  failed 
led  a  point  where  her 
5  seemed  insufficient. 
le  one  to  show  her  the 
10  one  in  whose  counsel 
uld  take  refuge.  She 
ie  and  decide  her  course 
moment  the  necessity 
106  • 


seemed  hard.  And  yet,  even  amid  her  sobs, 
she  did  not  doubt  her  own  ability  to  do  so. 
She  was  disappointed  and  unnerved,  but  not 
in  despair.  A  new  set  of  circumstances 
must  be  faced,  and  she  was  tired  and  heart- 
sore  ;  but  she  knew  that  her  strength  would 
be  equal  to  all  demands,  and  that  she  should 
find  her  way.  She  wept  from  loneliness, 
but  not  from  fear. 

All  through  her  life  she  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  depend  upon  herself.  Her  earliest 
recollections  were  of  an  elderly  Scotch  lady 
with  whom  she  had  lived  in  a  somewhat 
stately,  old-fashioned  house  on  the  Massa- 
chusetts coast,  near  Boston.  In  summer  they 
had  neighbors,  but  in  winter  they  had  none. 
Summer  and  winter,  however,  Griselda  and 
Mrs.  Macleod  lived  quite  alone.  Mr.  Mac- 
leod  was  always  wandering  in  the  West  with 
Grayburn,  seeking  fortune,  and  apparently 
finding  it,  for  there  was  no  lack  of  money  in 
the  lonely  Massachusetts  home.  All  was 
maintained  there  on  a  dignified  footing. 
There  were  servants,  carriages,  horses,  and 
everything  else  that  a  woman  and  child 
could  need  for  comfort. 

The  girl,  however,  felt  no  dependence  on 
her  elderly  companion.     She  had  had  from 


io8 


GRISELDA 


'f' 


":fci 


li-l  ■ 


'■A 


;!i-fi.' 


the  beginning  an  instinctive  sense  that  the 
modest  establishment  was  maintained  chiefly 
on  her  account,  and  Mrs.  Macleod  had  never 
attempted  to  give  any  other  impression. 
Between  the  two  there  was  affection,  but  no 
sympathy;  and  as  Griselda  grew  they  drifted 
more  and  more  apart. 

The  tall,  thin,  puritanical  Scotchwoman 
was    narrow    in    nature    and   intelligence. 
She  had  accepted  the  care  of  Griselda  not  as 
a  pleasure  but  as  a  task.     She  obeyed  her 
husband,  and   he  obeyed  Grayburn.      For 
her  the  girl  was  never  anything  more  than 
a  child  of  unfortunate  birth  whom  Gray- 
burn,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  was 
'  bringing  up  as  though  she  were  his  own.  In- 
wardly  the   woman  protested  against  the 
simple  luxury  with  which  her  charge  was 
surrounded.     That    Griselda   should   have 
governesses   and  masters  seemed  to  Mrs. 
Macleod  little  short  of  a  scandal,  when  so 
many  children  born  in  lawful  wedlock  must 
go  untaught.    It  was  to  the  woman's  credit, 
however,  that  she  never  allowed  this  feeling 
to  become  evident  in  act  or  word;  and  her 
treatment  of  Griselda  was  always  grimly 
kind.     On  one  point  only  had  Mrs.  Macleod 
expressed  her  own  desire.     She  had  chosen 


If 


lELDA 

itinctive  sense  that  the 
;  was  maintained  chiefly 
^rs.  Macleod  had  never 
any  other  impression, 
re  was  affection,  but  no 
riselda  grew  they  drifted 

ritanical  Scotchwoman 
ture    and   intelligence. 
5  care  of  Griselda  not  as 
I  task.     She  obeyed  her 
beyed  Grayburn.      For 
ver  anything  more  than 
ate  birth  whom  Gray- 
it  known  to  himself,  was 
jh  she  were  his  own.  In- 
i  protested  against  the 
which  her  charge  was 
Griselda   should   have 
lasters  seemed  to  Mrs. 
of  a  scandal,  when  so 
.  in  lawful  wedlock  must 
s  to  the  woman's  credit, 
ever  allowed  this  feeling 
in  act  or  word ;  and  her 
Ida  was  always  grimly 
t  only  had  Mrs.  Macleod 
desire.     She  had  chosen 


GRISELDA 


109 


the  solitary  house  on  the  Atlantic  seaboard 
because  the  situation  recalled  her  native 
place  in  the  Isle  of  Skye.  All  that  a  large 
city  had  to  give  could  be  brought  to  them 
there,  while  they  themselves  could  remain 
unnoticed  and  apart. 

So  Griselda  grew,  with  no  companions, 
but  needing  none.  From  time  to  time,  in 
summer,  advances  were  made  to  her  by  the 
daughters  of  families  whose  seaside  houses 
were  on  that  coast;  but  the  acquaintances 
thus  made  never  developed  into  intimacy. 
The  very  rumors  that  were  afloat  regarding 
Griselda's  birth  were  enough,  in  the  minds 
of  respectable  parents,  to  place  the  girl  out- 
side the  sphere  of  free  and  easy  friendship. 

On  her  part  Griselda,  though  often  lonely, 
was  neither  unhappy  nor  impatient.  Prac- 
tical rather  than  imaginative,  she  never  lost 
the  consciousness  that  her  present  form  of 
life,  though  it  lasted  for  fifteen  years,  was 
not  to  go  on  always.  It  was  a  time  of  wait- 
ing and  preparation,  though  for  what  she  did 
not  know.  With  a  mind  both  quick  and  re- 
tentive, she  read  and  reflected  much,  bring- 
ing to  bear  upon  her  studies  less  of  sentiment 
than  of  simple  common  sense.  She  was 
proud  and  easily  wounded,  but  reasonable 


ii  ■..■' 


u 


)ii 


no 


GRISELDA 


i'':i 


If. 


i:h/ 


and  just.  Rarely  angry,  and  never  so  with- 
out cause,  she  could  be  passionately  indig- 
nant, and  even  unforgiving.  Her  idea  of 
life,  from  childhood,  had  been  that  of  a 
course,  difficult  but  not  appalling,  in  which 
she  should  be  obliged  to  walk  inore  or  less 
alone.  She  accepted  this  fact  without  dis- 
may convinced  that  the  way  would  be  made 
clear  as  she  went  on.  To  courage  and  com- 
mon sense  she  added  much  deep,  if  unde- 
monstrative, religious  feeling ;  so  that  if  she 
ever  had  a  moment  of  dejection  she  felt  her- 
self supported  by  the  never-distant  Love. 

What  she  knew  of  her  own  origin  in- 
creased perhaps  this  sense  of  isolation  from 
the  ordinary  world.  There  had  never  been 
any  secret  as  to  her  relationship  to  Gray- 
bum.  Little  by  little,  as  she  grew  older, 
she  learned  the  circumstances  of  her  birth, 
as  far  as  her  guardian  thought  fit  to  make 
them  known.  The  full  truth  he  had  reserved 
until  she  was  twenty-one. 

The  information  she  had  thus  acquired 
served  only  to  heighten  her  affection  for  the 
man  who  had  rescued  her  in  babyhood,  and 
who  had  cared  for  her  incessantly  through- 
out her  life.  Grayburn  was  the  one  truly 
great  figure  of  her  world.      His  cominga 


,mai*tijiei^lt^ammt!i>6sme''i^*/i^^ii^^^^i*i-- 


3ELDA 

gry,  and  never  so  with- 
l  be  passionately  indig- 
jrgiving.  Her  idea  of 
1,  had  been  that  of  a 
not  appalling,  in  which 
:ed  to  walk  tnore  or  less 
d  this  fact  without  dis- 
the  way  would  be  made 
To  courage  and  corn- 
ed much  deep,  if  unde- 
s  feeling ;  so  that  if  she 
>f  dejection  she  felt  her- 
;  never-distant  Love, 
of  her  own  origin  in- 
sense  of  isolation  from 

There  had  never  been 
r  relationship  to  Gray- 
tie,  as  she  grew  older, 
;umstances  of  her  birth, 
iian  thought  fit  to  make 
ill  truth  he  had  reserved 
-one. 

she  had  thus  acquired 
ten  her  affection  for  the 
id  her  in  babyhood,  and 
ler  incessantly  through- 
turn  was  the  one  truly 

world.      His  cominga 


GRISELDA 


II  t 


and  goings  divided  her  year  better  than 
did  the  seasons.  He  was  to  her  the  incar- 
nation of  all  that  was  noble  and  good.  His 
absences  were  long  periods  of  waiting  for  his 
return.  She  could  not  know  him  very  well, 
and  she  saw  him  only  at  his  best ;  for  his 
visits  though  frequent  were  brief,  and  rather 
for  the  purpose  of  seeing  that  all  went  well, 
than  for  any  pleasure  they  gave  himself. 

Now  and  then,  during  the  hottest  part  of 
the  summer,  he  would  stay  for  a  few  weeks 
at  a  time,  and  these  were  Griselda's  seasons 
of  great  happiness.  She  and  Grayburn  read 
and  rode  and  walked  and  talked  together. 
It  mattered  little  to  her  that  he  was  a  silent 
and  pre-occupied  companion ;  he  was  there, 
and  that  was  enough ;  whatever  was  lacking 
on  his  part  she  herself  supplied.  She  never 
observed  that  though  kind  he  was  not  ten- 
der; that  he  never  expressed  regret  at  going 
away  or  seemed  to  miss  her  when  he  was 
gone.  She  took  his  goodness  for  granted, 
and  never  doubted  his  affection. 

When  Griselda  was  seventeen  this  quiet 
life  came  suddenly  to  an  end.  Grayburn 
wrote  that  business  was  taking  him  to  Paris 
and  that  he  wished  her  to  come  with  him, 
He  explained  that  he  would  leave  her  there 


k£^«imt«4«M^^|iS«»AiB&-£ttta(-«i?  '■■ 


.  I 


it 


113 


GRISELDA 


It 


I'll 


for  a  time,  and  gave  her  ten  days  in  which 
to  make  her  preparations.  Within  a  month 
Griselda  found  herself  transplanted  from 
the  Massachusetts  coast  to  the  quaint  and 
courtly  town  of  St.  Germain-en-Laye.  It 
was  a  new  atmosphere,  and  yet  a  life  which 
in  its  seclusion  was  not  wholly  unlike  the 
old. 

After  a  few  days  spent  in  Paris,  in  which 
Graybum  was  always  occupied,  he  had  taken 
her  to  St.  Germain,  and  had  left  her  with 
the  Baronne  de  St.  Caste.  He  himself  went 
on  to  Vienna,  and  afterwards  to  Berlin. 
Before  returning  to  America  he  paid  his 
ward  a  two-days'  visit,  and  then  was  gone. 

This  sudden  change  was  the  first  trial  of 
Griselda' s  life.  She  met  it  bravely,  know- 
ing that  this  too  was  a  period  of  preparation. 
It  was  autumn,  and  as  she  walked  with 
Madame  de  St.  Caste  along  the  historic  ter- 
race or  under  the  yellowing  chestnuts,  she 
longed  with  a  great  homesickness  for  the 
flaming  colors  of  the  Massachusetts  woods, 
and  for  the  purple  autumn  daisies  and  yel- 
low golden-rod  along  the  dusty  roadsides. 
As  she  looked  away  over  the  great  green 
plain,  through  which  the  Seine  twisted  and 
twined  like  a  long  silver  serpent,  to  where 


iwwM^»t^fi8'i^  ji^iii»Bj<a5i»i>aftim 


Hif^H^a^Qbi^i^ 


ISELDA 

ave  her  ten  days  in  which 
.rations.  Within  a  month 
erself  transplanted  from 
coast  to  the  quaint  and 
>t.  Germain-en-Laye.  It 
here,  and  yet  a  life  which 
as  not  wholly  unlike  the 

s  spent  in  Paris,  in  which 
lys  occupied,  he  had  taken 
in,  and  had  left  her  with 
,  Caste.  He  himself  went 
ad  afterwards  to  Berlin, 
to  America  he  paid  his 
visit,  and  then  was  gone, 
ange  was  the  first  trial  of 
he  met  it  bravely,  know- 
as  a  period  of  preparation, 
and  as  she  walked  with 
aste  along  the  historic  ter- 
5  yellowing  chestnuts,  she 
eat  homesickness  for  the 
the  Massachusetts  woods, 
le  autumn  daisies  and  yel- 
long  the  dusty  roadsides, 
vay  over  the  great  green 
hich  the  Seine  twisted  and 
g  silver  serpent,  to  where 


GRISELDA 


"3 


Paris  lay  just  visible,  the  Eiffel  Tower  faintly 
etched  against  the  sky,  she  often  sighed  for 
a  sight  of  Egg  Rock,  lying  lone  in  the  Atlan- 
tic, or  for  one  glimpse  of  the  long  low  line 
of  old  Nahant. 

But  time  and  use  have  easy  tasks  at  seven- 
teen, and  Griselda  came  to  care  for  her  new 
surroundings.  She  adapted  herself  to  the 
stately,  sombre  elegance  of  the  old  h6tel  in 
the  Rue  du  Vieil  Abreuvoir,  and  had  a  quick 
perception  of  the  mingled  dignity  and  good 
taste  so  characteristic  of  certain  phases  of 
French  life.  In  Madame  de  St.  Caste  she 
found  a  friend,  gentle  and  sympathetic  if 
not  amusing:  and  Griselda  greatly  enjoyed 
the  instruction  in  music,  embroidery,  house- 
hold economy,  and  French  literature  which 
she  took  under  this  lady's  wise  direction. 

The  daughter  of  a  family  of  Napoleonic 
traditions,  and  the  widow  of  a  gallant  officer 
killed  at  Sedan,  Madame  de  St.  Caste  as- 
sumed towards  the  Republic  the  same  atti- 
tude of  proud  aloofness  which  the  members 
of  the  old  nobility  had  maintained  towards 
the  Second  Empire.  Tall,  slender,  grace- 
ful, very  pale,  with  large,  sad  eyes,  she 
seemed  in  her  long,  black,  trailing  robes  like 
the  very  personification  of  France  brooding 


114 


GRISELDA 


f'Ht 


over  her  reverses.  She  herself  was  conscious 
of  this,  and  was  proud  of  looking  out  on 
life  much  as  the  statue  of  Strasburg  sur- 
rounded by  patriotic  wreaths  and  mottoes 
might  be  supposed  to  gaze  on  the  gaieties  of 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde.  Madame  de  St. 
Caste  had  never  advanced  beyond  1870.  The 
loss  of  Alsace  and  Lorraine  was  as  bitter  a 
blow  to  her  as  though  it  had  fallen  yester- 
day. As  Griselda  bent  over  her  embroidery 
frame,  in  the  faded  salon,  or  paced  the  leafy 
alUes  of  the  park,  she  heard  endless  tales  of 
Bismarck  and  Benedetti,  of  what  the  Em- 
peror had  said,  and  of  what  the  Empress  had 
worn.  The  Baronne's  lightest  memories 
were  of  balls  at  the  Tuileries  or  fetes  at 
Compi^gne.  Her  husband,  who  had  been  a 
brave  and  handsome  man,  held  a  secondary 
place  in  his  widow's  recollection.  France 
and  the  fashions,  as  they  had  been  before 
the  war,  were  the  favorite  themes  of 
Madame's  subdued  and  sorrowing  conver- 
sation. 

The  Baronne  still  received  on  Saturdays, 
and  then  her  salon  was  frequented  by  sur- 
vivals like  herself;  politicians  who  had  long 
been  forgotten,  artists  who  had  lost  their 
vogue,  with  a  few  old  military  men  who  at 


if 


w  1 


ill; 


^***i»»WJM 


SELDA 

)he  herself  was  conscious 
roud  of  looking  out  on 
tatue  of  Strasburg  sur- 
;ic  wreaths  and  mottoes 
:o  gaze  on  the  gaieties  of 
ncorde.  Madame  de  St. 
anced  beyond  1870.  The 
Lorraine  was  as  bitter  a 
lUgh  it  had  fallen  yester- 
ent  over  her  embroidery 
salon,  or  paced  the  leafy 
he  heard  endless  tales  of 
;detti,  of  what  the  Em- 
jf  what  the  Empress  had 
ine's  lightest  memories 
he  Tuileries  or  fetes  at 
lusband,  who  had  been  a 
le  man,  held  a  secondary 
r's  recollection.  France 
is  they  had  been  before 
le  favorite  themes  of 
and  sorrowing  conver- 

11  received  on  Saturdays, 
!  was  frequented  by  sur- 
politicians  who  had  long 
tists  who  had  lost  their 
old  military  men  who  at 


GRISELDA 


"5 


eighty  were  still  declaring  their  determina- 
tion never  to  fight  for  the  republic.  Now 
and  then,  when  more  intimate  friends  came 
out  from  Paris,  there  was  a  little  d^jiuner 
that  was  almost  gay,  at  the  Pavilion  Henri 
IV. 

In  all  this  Griselda  took  her  part,  till  she 
became  mildly  imperialistic  herself.  But 
when  the  three  years  of  this  life  were  over 
she  had  gained  something  more  than  a 
knowledge  of  Second  Empire  politics;  she 
had  attained  the  object  Grayburn  sought, 
and  for  which  he  had  willingly  doubled  the 
Baronne's  modest  income.  When  Griselda 
returned  to  America  those  who  had  known 
her  were  at  once  conscious  of  the  change  in 
her.  Just  what  it  was  no  one  could  define, 
but  every  one  could  see.  It  was  more  than 
the  difference  between  seventeen  and  twenty ; 
it  was  less  in  acquired  knowledge  than  in 
unconscious  charm.  Griselda  had  inherited 
a  certain  Scotch  dignity;  she  had  grown  up 
to  American  ease ;  she  had  added  to  these 
something  of  French  graciousness — that 
tinge  of  sympathy,  that  touch  of  taste,  light, 
unlabored,  indefinable,  intuitive  only  and 
never  to  be  taught,  which  mark  the  French- 
woman of  the  highest  class  in  the  smallest 


>  I' 


ti6 


GRISELDA 


details  of  speech  and  dress,  of  air  and  ges- 
ture. In  a  court  whose  very  password  was 
brilliancy,  in  a  time  which  placed  almost  too 
high  an  appreciation  upon  elegance,  Madame 
de  St.  Caste  had  been  noted  for  distinction 
of  manners  and  simplicity  of  grace.  Some- 
thing of  these  Griselda  had  acquired,  not 
by  effort  but  by  instinct,  grafting  them  on 
to  her  Scottish  strength  of  character  and 
straightforward  New  England  training. 

Griselda  as  she  was  at  twenty  seemed  to 
Grayburn  to  promise  all  that  he  needed  to 
perfect  his  success.  He  was  already  wealthy ; 
and  he  had  so  managed  her  originally  small 
fortune  that  now  she  too  was  rich.  On  the 
day  she  became  of  age  her  entire  income  was 
placed  at  her  disposal.  On  the  same  day 
he  told  her  all  that  there  was  still  to  tell  of 
the  circumstances  of  her  birth. 

Her  life  had  been  so  different  from  the 
lives  of  other  girls  that  Griselda  scarcely 
felt  surprise  at  the  new  facts  which  she  now 
learned.  She  listened  in  silence  while  Gray- 
burn  unfolded  his  plans,  and  made  scarcely 
any  comment  when  he  ceased.  The  knowl- 
edge of  her  complete  independence  in  age 
and  income  increased  her  natural  instinct  to 
act  warily.      She  loved  her  guardian,  and 


JELDA 

d  dress,  of  air  and  ges- 
hose  very  password  was 
vhich  placed  almost  too 
upon  elegance,  Madame 
en  noted  for  distinction 
)licity  of  grace.     Some- 
elda  had  acquired,  not 
;tinct,  grafting  them  on 
sngth  of  character  and 
r  England  training, 
vas  at  twenty  seemed  to 
36  all  that  he  needed  to 
He  was  already  wealthy ; 
iged  her  originally  small 
le  too  was  rich.     On  the 
ge  her  entire  income  was 
sal.     On  the  same  day 
there  was  still  to  tell  of 
f  her  birth. 

;n  so  different  from  the 
i  that  Griselda  scarcely 
[lew  facts  which  she  now 
sd  in  silence  while  Gray- 
3lans,  and  made  scarcely 
he  ceased.  The  knowl- 
2te  independence  in  age 
;d  her  natural  instinct  to 
3ved  her  guardian,  and 


GRISELDA 


V7 


i^m^t^  -  iMfMf'" 


wished  to  please  him,  but  she  would  not 
commit  herself  to  his  plans  by  promise. 
She  did  not  protest,  she  raised  no  objection ; 
she  simply  remained  silent.  She  must  think, 
she  must  wait,  before  deciding  whether  she 
could  act  with  him  or  not. 

To  Grayburn  this  silence  meant  submis- 
sion. She  had  never  questioned  his  wishes 
in  the  past ;  and  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that 
she  would  do  it  now.  She  had  done  what 
he  thought  best ;  and  this  absence  of  com- 
ment meant  that  she  would  do  it  still. 

On  one  point  only  Griselda  had  expressed 
herself  as  wholly  of  his  opinion.  The  Mac- 
leods  were  returning  to  Scotland  to  enjoy 
their  hardly-earned  wealth.  Grayburn  sug- 
gested that  Griselda  should  go  with  them, 
he  himself  following  when  some  last  busi- 
ness affairs  would  let  him.  To  this  the  girl 
consented.  If  what  Grayburn  wished  were 
to  come  to  pass,  then  she  must  first  survey 
the  ground,  she  must  see  whither  she  would 
be  going  before  taking  the  first  step ;  for  the 
first  step  would  be  the  fatal  one. 

It  had  never  been  her  intention  to  remain 
with  her  elderly  Scotch  companions,  though 
she  had  not  said  so  to  Grayburn.  They 
were  not  what  she  needed,  they  could  give 


ii8 


GRISELDA 


her  no  help,  and  they  were  not  even  person- 
ally attached  to  her.     On  reaching  London 
her  first  use  of  her  independence  was  to  take 
the  simplest  and  readiest  means  of  putting 
herself  under  more  useful  and  sympathetic 
protection.     This  had  come  about  through 
Lady  Phillida's  advertisement.  Griselda  was 
not  unaware  that  behind  such  a  paragraph 
there  might  easily  be  fraud  or  bad  faith ;  but 
if  so,  she  did  not  doubt  her  ability  to  deal 
with  it.     She  would  test  the  matter  and  see. 
The  first  meeting  with  Lady  Phillida  Gris- 
elda felt  to  be  a  turning  point  in  her  life. 
She  had  a  sense  of  crossing  the  threshold  of 
another  world.     The  interview  took  place  in 
Lady   Phillida's  drawing-room  in  Queen's 
Gate,   whither  Griselda  had  come  by  ap- 
pointment.    The  letters  which  had  passed 
between  the  two  had  been  absolutely  non- 
committal on  both  sides,  and  Griselda  had 
already  .decided  her  method  of  courteous  re- 
treat in  case  of  dissatisfaction  with  what  she 

found. 

As  she  alighted  at  the  door  her  quick, 
practical  eye  took  in  every  detail.  The  ex- 
terior of  the  house  with  its  window  boxes  of 
flowers,  and  curtains  of  rich  guipure  behind 
them,  showed  signs  of  taste  and  care.     She 


t 

I 

i 

i 
\ 

a 
t 
t 
t 

a 
a 

P 
s; 

0 

a 
it 
w 
tl 

S1 

si 

Ci 

01 

hi 
m 
di 


3ELDA 

Y  were  not  even  person- 
'.     On  reaching  London 
dependence  was  to  take 
adiest  means  of  putting 
useful  and  sympathetic 
ad  come  about  through 
srtisement.  Griselda  was 
)ehind  such  a  paragraph 
e  fraud  or  bad  faith ;  but 
loubt  her  ability  to  deal 
test  the  matter  and  see. 
with  Lady  Phillida  Gris- 
urning  point  in  her  life, 
crossing  the  threshold  of 
;  interview  took  place  in 
awing-room  in  Queen's 
jelda  had  come  by  ap- 
jtters  which  had  passed 
ad  been  absolutely  non- 
sides,  and  Griselda  had 
•  method  of  courteous  re- 
atisfaction  with  what  she 

at  the  door  her  quick, 
in  every  detail.  The  ex- 
with  its  window  boxes  of 
is  of  rich  guipure  behind 
is  of  taste  and  care.     She 


GRISELDA 


119 


remarked  the  footman  who  admitted  her,  and 
the  hall  with  its  carved  furniture  and  old 
prints.  During  the  two  minutes  of  waiting 
in  the  drawing-room  she  received  a  distinct 
if  vague  impression  of  beauty,  comfort,  and 
well-ordered  ease.  When  a  portifere  was  lifted 
and  Lady  Phillida,  wearing  a  long,  loose 
morning-robe  of  pink  and  white,  came 
briskly  in,  Griselda  thought  for  a  second 
that  there  must  be  some  mistake. 

Lady  Phillida  shook  hands  cordially,  and 
apologized  for  being  late.  The  apparent 
absence  of  any  embarrassment  on  her  part 
put  Griselda  entirely  at  ease.  When  they 
sat  down  the  conversation  for  a  few  moments 
consisted  of  such  commonplace  remarks 
as  two  acquaintances  might  exchange  dur- 
ing an  ordinary  call.  But  these  moments 
were  decisive ;  for  it  was  then  that  each  of 
the  two  women  examined,  criticised,  and 
summed  up  the  other.  No  detail  on  either 
side  of  voice,  feature,  manner,  or  dress  es- 
caped quick  and  comprehensive  scrutiny. 

As  Lady  Phillida  was  saying  aloud  that 
one  must  be  very  careful  in  one's  choice  of  a 
hansom  in  the  street,  she  was  secretly  re- 
marking that  the  simplicity  of  Griselda's 
dark  blue  gown  was  that  which  only  taste 


111 


If! 
(• ' 

«ii 
.  Ill 


ii 


if  11 
« .1, 


I! 
I 


,,0  GRISELDA 

and  money  can  achieve,  and  wondering 
whether  it  was  American.or  French.  Gris- 
elda,  in  saying  that  for  some  purposes  she 
preferred  a  hansom  to  a  brougham,  was  not- 
ing that  Lady  Phillida  was  really  older  than 
she  seemed  at  a  passing  glance,  and  that  she 
gave  every  evidence  of  a  frank  and  faithful 

nature.  .         ,,  t    a 

"Now  let  us  talk  about  busmess,  Lady 
PhilUda  said  cheerily,  after  five  minutes  had 
thus  passed.      "Let  us  find  out  who  each 

other  is."  „       .  , 

"That  is  easier  for  me  than  you,     saia 

Griselda.     "As  compared  with  me  you  are 

like  a  city  on  a  hill." 

"And  if  you  are  a  light  under  a  bushel, 

Lady  Phillida  rejoined,  "I  hope  it  is  not  to 

be  for  long." 

Then  Griselda  gave  a  brief  account  of  Her- 
self She  stated  that  she  was  an  orphan,  en- 
tirely alone,  wholly  independent,  with  no 
woman  friend  closer  than  Madame  de  St. 
Caste,  that  she  was  Scotch  by  birth,  Amer- 
ican  by  education,  and  that  Grayburn  had 
been  her  guardian. 

"And  I,"  said  Lady  PhiUida,  her  hands 
clasped  in  her  lap,  and  her  large  gray  eyes 
fixed  eagerly  on  Griselda's,  "I  am  a  woman 


P 

n 

fi 
ti 
a 
a 
o 
E 
I 
s< 
le 
fi: 
m 
a 
in 
m 

01 

v< 

re 

I 

m 

w! 
in 
th 
tn 
L) 


iELDA 

hieve,  and  wondering 
srican.or  French.  Gris- 
for  some  purposes  she 
to  a  brougham,  was  not- 
da  was  really  older  than 
ing  glance,  and  that  she 
5  of  a  frank  and  faithful 

c  about  business,"  Lady 
y,  after  five  minutes  had 
t  us  find  out  who  each 

for  me  than  you,"  said 
apared  with  me  you  are 

a  light  under  a  bushel," 
ined,  "I  hope  it  is  not  to 

Lve  a  brief  account  of  her- 
it  she  was  an  orphan,  en- 
ly  independent,  with  no 
ler  than  Madame  de  St. 
s  Scotch  by  birth,  Amer- 
and  that  Grayburn  had 

:.ady  Phillida,  her  hands 
t,  and  her  large  gray  eyes 
iriselda's,  "I  am  a  woman 


GRISELDA 


lai 


of  the  world,  poor  and  lonely.    Yes,  I  am 
poor,"  she  repeated,  in  answer  to  an  invol- 
untary expression  of  surprise  in  Griselda's 
face.     "Poverty  and  wealth  are  merely  rela- 
tive terms,  and  if  my  surroundings  suggest 
affluence  it  is  because  I  must  have  them.     I 
am  a  professional  person,  you  know — a  sort 
of  professional  mother  to  motherless  girls. 
Everybody  knows  it,  and  I  am  not  ashamed. 
I  give  them  the  best  I  have,  the  best  of  my- 
self, and  the  best  of  the  little  things  I  have 
learned  not  always  very  easily.     You  will 
find  people  to  call  me  hard,  or  frivolous,  or 
mercenary,  or  eccentric.     That  is  only  be- 
cause I  live  my  life  in  my  own  way  and  not 
in  theirs.     If  I  had  put  on  a  cap,  and  buried 
myself  in  a  useless  existence  at  Leamington 
or  Tunbridge  Wells,   I  should  have  passed 
very  well  in  the  world  as  a  genteel  widow  in 
reduced  circumstances.    But  I  couldn't  do  it ; 
I  was  too  much  of  a  mother.     Even  when 
my   husband  was   living  my  heart  always 
went  out  to  the  young  half-fledged  things 
who  were  being  dragged  through  society  by 
incompetent  hands,  or  were  trying  to  push 
their  way  for  themselves.     I  had  been  a 
motherless  girl  myself,  and  if  my  dear  friend 
Lady  Glenorchie  had  not  taken  me  under  her 


„a  GRISELDA 

gentle  wing-you  know  her?"  Lady  Phil 
lida  asked,  as  Griselda  started  slightly. 

"No.     I  have  heard  of  her  only.    Please 
goon.     I  am  so  interested. " 

"Well,  if  Lady  Glenorchie  had  not  be- 
friended me  I  should  have  fared  no  better 
than  many  another.  A  girl  in  her  social  life 
must  be  like  a  voice  in  a  chorus,  sweet  and 
in  tune,  but  unobtrusive.  I  think  you  have 
that  quality,"  Lady  Philli-la  added  frankly, 
looking  at  Griselda  with  a  critical  expres- 
sion. "You  have  a  petsoual  note  of  your 
own,  but  one  which  does  uot  startle." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  Griselda,  color- 
ing and  smiling.  "Perhaps  it  is  through 
having  lived  so  much  alone. " 

"Perhaps,"  said  Lady  Phillida.  You 
are  neat,  fiv.ished,  modest,"  she  went  on  m 
an  appraising:  cone,  "intelligent,  competent, 
and  not  vain.  You  have  good  taste,  a  low 
voice,  and  a  nice  manner.  You  lack  free- 
dom  rather  than  ease,  and  you  are  too  visi- 
bly in  earnest.  But  you  have  all  the  quali- 
fications." 

"For  what?"  Griselda  asked. 
"For  whatever  you  want  to  be.     I  don't 
know  your  ideals,  but  I  am  sure  they  are 
good  ones."  ' 


i( 
h 
h 
h 

P 
1 

V 

s< 

tl 

V 

S 

I 
t( 
t 

V 

t 

n 
£ 

V 

c 

n 
a 
d 
t 


T  « 


a 


ELDA 

low  her?"  Lady  Phil- 
3a  started  slightly, 
rd  of  her  only.    Please 
•ested." 

lenorchie  had  not  he- 
ld have  fared  no  better 
A  girl  in  her  social  life 
;  in  a  chorus,  sweet  and 
sive.     I  think  you  have 
Philli'^a  added  frankly, 
with  a  critical  expres- 
petsovial  note  of  your 
does  uot  startle." 
id,"  said  Griselda,  color- 
'Perhaps  it  is  through 
[i  alone." 

Lady  Phillida.  "You 
modest,"  she  went  on  in 
"intelligent,  competent, 
1  have  good  taste,  a  low 
manner.  You  lack  free- 
Lse,  and  you  are  too  visi- 
it  you  have  all  the  quali- 

selda  asked. 

ou  want  to  be.     I  don't 

but  I  am  sure  they  are 


GRISELDA 


"3 


"I  have  none  as  yet;  I  am  only  a  mother- 
less girl  in  search  of  motherly  protection." 

"So  much  the  better.  You  will  find  your 
ideals  as  you  go  on.  But  I  was  telling  you 
how  I  came  to  t.ike  up  this  work.  When  my 
husband  died  I  was  left  even  poorer  than  I 
had  been  before,  and  I  have  always  been 
poor  enough.  I  was  not  only  poor  but  lonely. 
Then  I  began  to  ask  myself  if  I  had  any 
vocation  which  could  fill  up  my  life.  It 
struck  me  one  day  that  I  had  something  of 
the  same  yearning  towards  unmothered  girls 
which  led  Madame  de  Maintenon  to  found 
St.  Cjrr.  Only  there  was  this  difference. 
Madame  de  Maintenon  brought  her  girls  up 
to  the  edge  of  their  social  life,  and  then 
turned  them  adrift.  I  wanted  to  take  them 
where  she  let  them  go.  All  through  the 
time  of  my  heaviest  mourning  I  used  to 
make  plans  for  what  I  should  do  when  I 
began  to  go  out  again.  Then  one  day  my 
Solicitor,  who  knew  how  small  my  means 
were,  came  and  asked  me  if  I  would  take 
charge  of  an  Australian  girl.  It  seemed  to 
me  as  though  it  were  a  special  Providence, 
and  so  it  was,  for  it  taught  me  how  not  to 
do  it.  The  girl  was  rich  and  dreadful.  She 
treated  me  as  a  hired  lady-companion,  and 


■■^■.•f:^mm.~ 


■i 


kit 


Ml 

i 


P 


«H 


GRISELDA 


during  our  year  together  I  learned  more 
from  her  than  she  from  me.  My  next  was 
an  English  girl,  rich  too  and  an  orphan,  but 
with  relatives  who  called  me  to  account 
every  three  months,  and  addressed  me  as 
a  sort  of  upper  governess.  After  that  I 
decided  to  pick  and  choose  for  myself.  I 
saw  my  way  more  clearly.  I  would  not  be 
dependent  on  my  solicitor's  selection,  and 
so  I  advertised.  The  result  has  been  an 
embarras  de  richesse.  Year  own  letter  was 
but  one  among  seventeen,  and  you  are  the 
seventeenth." 

"Then  I  fear  my  chance  is  a  poor  one," 
said  Griselda. 

"It  was  till  this  morning.  I  had  almost 
decided  on  a  nice  girl  from  Bermuda.  But 
now  that  we  have  come  face  to  face,  I  don't 
think  I  am  rash  in  saying  that  if  you  will 
take  me  I  will  take  you." 

So  the  matter  was  settled,  and  Griselda 
came  at  once  to  Queen's  Gate.  It  was  then 
early  in  May,  and  during  the  season  Miss 
Grant  saw  all  that  she  could  reasonably 
desire  of  London  life.  Lady  Phillida  had 
not  been  wrong  in  predicting  for  her  new 
friend  a  great  social  success.  People  had 
nicknamed  the  house  in  Queen's  Gate  "The 


3BLDA 

gether  I  learned  more 
•om  me.  My  next  was 
1  too  and  an  orphan,  but 
called  me  to  account 
,  and  addressed  me  as 
averness.  After  that  I 
I  choose  for  myself.  I 
:learly.  I  would  not  be 
olicitor's  selection,  and 
'he  result  has  been  an 
e.  Your  own  letter  was 
enteen,  and  you  are  the 

chance  is  a  poor  one," 

morning.  I  had  almost 
;irl  from  Bermuda.  But 
ome  face  to  face,  I  don't 
1  saying  that  if  you  will 
you." 

as  settled,  and  Griselda 
;en's  Gate.  It  was  then 
during  the  season  Miss 
t  she  could  reasonably 
life.  Lady  Phillida  had 
i  predicting  for  her  new 
ial  success.  People  had 
se  in  Queen's  Gate  "The 


G1ISELDA 


125 


Orphan's  Home";  but  as  Lady  Phillida's 
orphans  were  invariably  rich  and  pretty,  a 
new  one  was  certain  of  exciting  curiosity 
beforehand.  This  Griselda  did  not  know, 
and  so  was  without  self-consciousness.  She 
took  her  life  as  a  matter-of-course  and  was 
quite  unaware  of  the  mingling  of  admiration 
and  speculation  which  she  created.  Current 
reports  of  her  wealth  were  exaggerated,  but 
the  general  recognition  of  her  taste,  intelli- 
gence, and  beauty  was  no  more  than  just. 
Lady  Phillida  had  never  had  a  pupil  so 
faithful  to  her  social  precepts,  and  of  whom 
she  could  be  so  proud. 

The  fateful  moment  of  the  season  had 
been  the  afternoon  when,  at  Lady  Keene's, 
Griselda  had  been  struck  by  the  resemblance 
to  her  own  father  borne  by  a  tall  young  man, 
with  fair  hair  and  a  blonde  moustache. 

"Who  is  that?"  she  asked  with  quick  and 
unusual  interest. 

"Lomond,  come  here,"  Lady  Phillida 
called  promptly,  and  the  young  man  came 
forward. 

Griselda  turned  suddenly  pale  at  hearing 
the  name,  but  recovered  herself  before  any 
one  could  have  remarked  her  emotion. 

Up  to  this  moment  her  life  in  London  had 


'1\ 


11;' 

V.' 


126 


GRISELDA 


been  gay  and  amusing;  now  it  took  on  a 
new  and  deeper  interest.  Between  herself 
and  Lomond  an  instantaneous  sympathy 
arose.  Sympathy  quickly  developed  into 
something  stronger;  and  when  he  asked  her 
to  marry  him  she  would  have  sacrificed 
everything  she  possessed  to  do  it. 

"But  can  I?"  she  asked  herself;  and  she 
could  find  no  answer. 

When  the  invitation  to  Lomond  Lodge 
had  come  Griselda  had  shrunk  from  accept- 
ing it.  There  were  so  many  reasons  which 
made  it  inexpedient  to  go.  She  had  yielded 
only  in  the  hope  that  once  there  her  path 
might  become  clearer.  It  was  possible,  she 
thought,  that  in  Lady  Glenorchie  she  might 
find  another  friend,  another  Madame  de  St. 
Caste  or  Lady  Phillida.  Instead,  Griselda 
and  Lomond's  mother  had  become  instinct- 
ive opijonents,  if  not  actual  enemies. 

It  was  the  first  check  Griselda  had 
received,  and  she  resented  it.  London,  with 
its  easy  going  indifference  to  antecedents, 
had  accepted  her.  Lady  Glenorchie  stood 
for  the  old-fashioned  pride  and  precision  of 
the  provinces.  To  her  Griselda  was  not 
only  a  rich  nobody;  there  hung  about  her, 
in  Lady  Glenorchie's  opinion,  something  of 


SELDA 

sing;  now  it  took  on  a 
terest.  Between  herself 
instantaneous  sympathy 
quickly  developed  into 
;  and  when  he  asked  her 
!  would  have  sacrificed 
sessed  to  do  it. 
;  asked  herself;  and  she 
sr. 

ition  to  Lomond  Lodge 
had  shrunk  from  accept- 
5  so  many  reasons  which 
t  to  go.  She  had  yielded 
that  once  there  her  path 
rer.  It  was  possible,  she 
idy  Glenorchie  she  might 
,  another  Madame  de  St. 
illida.  Instead,  Griselda 
;her  had  become  instinct- 
ot  actual  enemies, 
st  check  Griselda  had 
esented  it.  London,  with 
ifference  to  antecedents. 
Lady  Glenorchie  stood 
ed  pride  and  precision  of 
0  her  Griselda  was  not 
';  there  hung  about  her, 
b's  opinion,  something  of 


GRISELDA 


127 


the  mystery  which  marks  the  adventuress. 
Miss  Grant  was  perfectly  aware  of  the 
silent,  scornful  sentence  thus  passed  upon 
her,  and  her  whole  nature  rose  in  proud 
protest  and  indignation.  Lady  Phillida  had 
discovered  that  once  upon  a  time  a  woman 
of  the  Wimpole  family  hid  married  a  Grant 
and  gone  to  America.  After  that  she 
jokingly  called  Griselda  her  distant  cousin. 
The  sweet  smile  of  delicate  derision  with 
which  Lady  Glenorchie  heard  the  word 
cousin  seemed  to  turn  the  possible  into  the 
absurd.  She  glanced  in  amusement  at  Lady 
Phillida,  and  then  turned  to  look  Griselda  up 
and  down,  not  haughtily,  but  with  gentle 
cruelty,  as  though  the  girl  herself  must  enjoy 
the  jest. 

The  fact  that  Griselda  admired  Lady 
Glenorchie  made  this  unceasing  and  barely 
perceptible  scorn  the  harder  to  bear.  Apart 
from  the  fact  that  she  was  Lomond's  mother, 
Miss  Grant  would  have  cared  vastly  more 
for  the  approval  of  this  distinguished,  high- 
bred woman  than  for  Lady  Phillida's  less 
fastidious  regi  rd.  Lady  Glenorchie  on  her 
own  side  had  moments  of  compunction 
towards  Griselda.  Her  sense  of  the 
exquisite  was  too  keen  not  to  do  justice  to 


128 


GRISELDA 


the  mingling  of  daintiness  and  dignity  which 
Griselda  carried  with  her,. and  which  made 
Miss  Dumbleton's  shy  reserve  seem  like  the 
unformed  manner  of  a  school-girl.  But  the 
fact  that  she  had  this  bearing  without 
"birth"  was  in  itself  suspicious,  and  so  Lady 
Glenorchie  choked  her  incipient  admiration 

down. 

Thus  the  week-  at  Lomond  Lodge  went 
by,  and  Griselda  grew  even  more  uncertain 
of  her  course.  She  had  looked  forward  to 
Graybum's  coming  in  the  hope  that  he  could 
give  her  counsel.  She  had  hoped  that  he 
would  advise  her  to  marry  Lomond.  With 
his  support  she  could  have  done  so  in  spite 
of  all  difficulties.  Now  he  had  failed  her, 
and  she  must  make  her  decision  for  herself. 

For  a  long  time  she  lay  sobbing  on  the 
couch  until  her  nerves  grew  calm.  When 
she  could  cry  no  more  she  lay  still — list- 
lessly, idly,  almost  indifferently.  Then  with 
her  accustomed  energy,  she  rose,  bathed  her 
eyes,  smoothed  her  hair,  and  adjusted  her 
dress. 

♦•I  must  think,"  she  said  to  herself. 

She  took  a  chair  and  sat  down  by  an  open 
window,  looking  out  over  a  beautiful  extent 
of  shrubbery  to   where   the  late    sunlight 


iELDA 

iness  and  dignity  which 
1  her,  and  which  made 
ly  reserve  seem  like  the 
a  school-girl.  But  the 
this  bearing  without 
suspicious,  and  so  Lady 
er  incipient  admiration 

t  Lomond  Lodge  went 
sw  even  more  uncertain 
had  looked  forward  to 
n  the  hope  that  he  could 
5hc  had  hoped  that  he 
marry  Lomond.  With 
i  have  done  so  in  spite 
[ow  he  had  failed  her, 
her  decision  for  herself, 
she  lay  sobbing  on  the 
ves  grew  calm.  When 
nore  she  lay  still — list- 
idifferently.  Then  with 
gy,  she  rose,  bathed  her 
hair,  and  adjusted  her 

he  said  to  herself, 
tnd  sat  down  by  an  open 
t  over  a  beautiful  extent 
here   the  late    sunlight 


GRISELDA 


139 


flashed  and  twinkled  on  the  glass  of  the  hot 
houses  just  visible  between  the  trees.  Her 
eye  fixed  itself  on  this  point  of  light  while, 
with  characteristic  conciseness,  she  marked 
out  the  different  paths,  among  which  she 
had  to  choose.  She  confronted  first  one 
alternative,  then  the  other. 

"I  can  definitely  refuse  him,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "and  go  away.  That  will  mean 
that  I  lend  myself  to  Mr.  Grayburn's  plans, 
even  if  I  do  not  marry  him.  It  will  mean 
that  in  a  few  days'  time  I  declare  myself  the 
enemy  of  the  man  I  love  and  for  whom  I 
would  willingly  sacrifice  everything.  No. 
The  position  would  be  terrible." 

"Or,"  she  went  on,  "I  can  marry  him. 
If  so  it  must  be  on  condition  that  he  seek  to 
know  no  more  than  he  knows  at  present; 
that  he  ask  no  question;  that  he  leave  my 
secret  with  me  until  I  am  ready  to  tell  it. 
That  is  a  hard  position  in  which  to  place  a 
man,  but  there  is  no  o^'ier  way.  If  he 
refuse  I  must  refuse.  To  marry  him  thus 
will  mean  that  I  accept  Lady  Glenorchie's 
judgment  of  me  as  an  adventuress.  It  will 
mean  that  he  himself  can  hardly  have  any 
other  opinion.  There  will  always  be  in  his 
mind  a  question  as  to  whether  he  has  done 


130 


GRISELDA 


right  or  not.  As  long  as  this  secret  exists 
it  will  be  like  a  wide  black  and  empty  space 
between  us.  It  will  be  hard  for  him  and 
for  his  mother.  It  will  be  harder  still  for 
me.  That  is  where  my  part  in  the  sacrifice 
comes  in.  If  he  be  ready,  I  shall  be  ready. 
I  love  him  well  enough  to  live  under  any 
cloud  rather  than  lose  him. 

"I  could  not  tell  him  beforehand,"  she 
went  on  with  a  shudder.  "No,  that  would 
be  worst  of  all.  It  would  be  too  cruel.  He 
would  insist  on  the  die  being  thrown.  His 
honor  would  demand  it.  Then,  if  I  lost  I 
could  not  marry  him.  If  I  won,  he  could 
not  marry  me.  There  is  but  one  way — the 
way  of  the  secret  and  the  sacrifice.  It  is 
possible  to  make  it  the  way  of  trust  and 
love." 

She  rose  as  she  came  to  this  decision,  and 
her  features  regained  their  usual  expression 
of  serenity  and  strength.  Then  going  to 
her  bedside,  she  knelt  down  and  buried  her 
face  in  prayer.  As  she  prayed  she  sobbed 
again.  She  longed  so  much  to  be  like  other 
girls.  Secrecy  was  to  her  something  akin  to 
shame.  But,  she  told  herself,  she  would  be 
gentle;  she  would  disarm  Lady  Glenorchie's 
pride  with  humility ;  she  would  bear  every- 


ELDA 


GRISELDA 


«3» 


g  as  this  secret  exists 
)lack  and  empty  space 
be  hard  for  him  and 
ill  be  harder  still  for 
ly  part  in  the  sacrifice 
eady,  I  shall  be  ready, 
igh  to  live  under  any 
him. 

lim  beforehand,"  she 
ier.  "No,  that  would 
3uld  be  too  cruel.  He 
ie  being  thrown.  His 
it.  Then,  if  I  lost  I 
I.  If  I  won,  he  could 
:e  is  but  one  way — the 
id  the  sacrifice.  It  is 
the  way  of  trust  and 

le  to  this  decision,  and 
their  usual  expression 
Qgth.  Then  going  to 
it  down  and  buried  her 
she  prayed  she  sobbed 
o  much  to  be  like  other 
i  her  something  akin  to 
i  herself,  she  would  be 
jarm  Lady  Glenorchie's 
she  would  bear  every- 


thing, and  bend  to  everything,  and  win  by 
patience  where  she  could  not  conquer  by 
force. 

When  she  rose  from  her  knees  she  felt 
herself  strong  for  action  and  meek  for 
endurance,  asking  only  for  love. 


4' 


.t1,, , 


IX 


Griselda,  on  entering  the  drawing  room 
before  dinner,  found  that  she  was  the  last 
to  come.     As  Grayburn  saw  her  at  the  door, 
he  left  Marignan  with  whom  he  had  been 
talking,  and  went  towards  her.     She  was  in 
white,  with  but  two  touches  of  color— the 
blue  of  a  large  and  lovely  turquoise  at  her 
breast,  and  that  of  another  in  her  dark  hair. 
"I  thought  you  would  be  here,"  she  said, 
smiling  as  though  no  great  question  were 
between  them.      "I  am  so  glad.      Perhaps 
you  will  take  me  in." 

"No,  I  take  in  Lady  Phillida,  but  they 
may  put  me  beside  you.  If  not,  I  want  to 
say  now  what  I  may  be  unable  to  say  later, 
that  we  shall  leave  here  to-morrow.  We 
have  so  much  to  do  and  to  say!  And  besides 
we  shall  have  to  go  very  soon  to  Scotland. 
Can  you  be  ready  for  the  ten-thirty  train  to 
Waterloo?" 

"We?"  she  asked,  turning    pale    again. 
'•Whom  do  you  mean?" 
"You  and  I,  of  course." 


k... 


GRISELDA 


133 


g  the  drawing  room 
hat  she  was  the  last 
1  saw  her  at  the  door, 
i  whom  he  had  been 
,rds  her.  She  was  in 
;ouches  of  color — the 
vely  turquoise  at  her 
ther  in  her  dark  hair, 
id  be  here,"  she  said, 
I  great  question  were 
m  so  glad.      Perhaps 

ly  Phillida,  but  they 
•u.  If  not,  I  want  to 
le  unable  to  say  later, 
lere  to-morrow.  We 
d  to  say!  And  besides 
rery  soon  to  Scotland, 
the  ten-thirty  train  to 

turning    pale    again. 

r 

:se." 

33  i 


•'But  I  can't  leave  Lady  Phillida.  I  am 
bound  to  her." 

"Nonsense,"  he  said  with  good  humored 
impatience.  "Now  that  I  have  come  you 
must  be  with  me.  I  will  make  everything 
right  with  Lady  Phillida." 

Before  Griselda  could  reply  a  movement 
among  the  guests  indicated  that  they  were 
going  in  to  dinner. 

Marignan  approached  Griselda  and  asked 
if  he  might  have  the  pleasure.  Graybum 
went  forward  and  offered  his  arm  to  Lady 
Phillida.  Lomond  had  already  begun  the 
procession  with  deaf  old  Lady  Bracknell, 
while  Lady  Glenorchie,  splendid  in  black 
velvet,  old  lace,  and  diamonds,  came  with 
Lord  Bracknell  in  the  rear. 

At  table  the  hostess  placed  Graybum  on 
her  own  left;  while  Griselda  found  herself 
between  Lomond  and  Marignan.  This 
arrangement  of  places  had  not  escaped  Lady 
Glenorchie's  attention  when,  just  before 
dinner,  her  son  had  submitted  the  list  to 
her,  but  hers  was  the  pride  which  would 
not  descend  to  petty  mistrust,  and  she  had 
signified  her  approval. 

Lomond    was    quite    aware    that   Lady 
Bracknell  much  preferred  to  be  left  to  her 


»34 


GRISELDA 


deafness  and  her  dinner.  After  his  first 
ineffectual  remark  she  told  him  so. 

"But  you  can  always  hear  me,"  he  called. 

"Eh?  What?"  she  asked  in  her  soft  voice. 

"You  can  always  hear  me,"  he  shouted. 

"Near  you?  Yes,  I  like  to  be  near  you. 
But  I  don't  want  to  be  any  nearer. " 

"That  isn't  very  kind,"  Lomond  shouted 

again 

"You  don't  mind?  Neither  do  I;  but  we 
must  respect  the  opinion  of  the  table." 

The  old  lady  laughed  and  turned  her 
attention  to  her  soup. 

"None  are  so  deaf  as  those  who  will  not 
hear,"  said  Griselda.  "Lady  Bracknell's 
affliction  must  amount  to  a  gift.  She  can 
escape  so  much  in  the  way  of  conversation. 
It  must  be  delightful  to  listen  only  when  one 
wants  to  hear;  and  speak  only  when  one 
has  something  to  say. " 

"But,"  said  Marignan,  "we  should  miss 
some  of  the  pleasantest  moments  of  our 
lives  if  we  did  that. "    • 

"Quite  so,"  said   Lomond.      "The  best 

talk  is  not  the   wittiest,   it  is  that  which 

drifts  on  aimlessly  between  friends,  whose 

remarks  haven't  perhaps  the  slightest  value. 

"I  agree  with  you,"  Griselda  said,  "when 


SLDA 

ner.  After  his  first 
told  him  so. 
shear  me,"  he  called, 
iked  in  her  soft  voice, 
ear  me,'*  he  shouted, 
like  to  be  near  you. 
!  any  nearer. " 
ad,"  Lomond  shouted 

Neither  do  I ;  but  we 
aion  of  the  table." 
hed    and  turned  her 

as  those  who  will  not 
"Lady  Bracknell's 
It  to  a  gift.  She  can 
e  way  of  conversation. 
;o  listen  only  when  one 

speak  only  when  one 

It 

nan,  "we  should  miss 
itest  moments  of  our 

• 

Lomond.  "The  best 
;iest,  it  is  that  which 
etween  friends,  whose 
ips  the  slightest  value. ' ' 
"  Griselda  said,  "when 


GRISELDA 


^35 


the  talk  is  that  of  friends.  But  with  our 
ordinary  acquaintance  we  expend  a  great 
deal  of  energy  to  produce  a  very  poor  result. 
We  talk  to  cover  ground  which  we  might  as 
well  pass  over  in  silence." 

"And  yet  the  best  things  are  often  said 
that  way,"  Marignan  interposed.  "They 
come  by  accident,  like  diamonds  in  the 
sand." 

"Yes, ' '  Griselda  said.  ' ' But  there  is  such 
a  lot  of  sand  and  the  diamonds  are  so  few. ' ' 

"You  prefer  the  jewels,"  said  Marignan, 
"collected  and  cut  and  strung  into  a 
necklace." 

"Miss  Grant  feels  about  conversation," 
said  Lomond,  "as  I  do  about  Wagner's 
operas.  There  are  splendid  passages  here 
and  there,  but  one  is  bored  to  death  waiting 
for  them.  When  they  come  one's  powers 
of  listening  are  played  out.  If  they  could 
give  us  the  Love-Death  or  Siegfried's 
funeral  march  at  the  beginning  of  the  first 
act  I  for  one  should  be  able  to  enjoy  it. 
Then  one  could  go  home  or  to  the  club, 
while  the  rest  was  sung  to  the  enthusiasts. ' ' 

"Speaking  of  Wagner,"  said  Griselda  in 
a  lower  voice,  while  Marigiian  turned  to 
talk  with  Miss  Dumbleton,  "do  you  remem- 


136 


GRISELDA 


ber  the  first  time  you  came  into  oar  box  at 

Covent  Garden?"  .       v 

"Yes  "  said   Lomond,  also  lowenng  ms 

voice  aid  bending  slightly  towards  her,  "It 

was  the  evening  after  our  first  meetmg  at 

Lady  Keene's.     I  remember  that  you  would 

scarcely  speak  to  me;  you  were  so  taken  up 

with  looking  at  the  Princess  of  Wales. 

"It  was  Lohengrin,"  she  said,  musmgly. 

"With    Jean    de   Reszke    and  Madame 

Eames,"  he  added.     "How  enraptured  you 

were!  and  how  they  sang!" 

"It  was  the  problem  of  the  two  lives, 
she  said,  "which  interested  me  mere  I  think 
than  the  beauty  of  the  music. ' ' 

"  But  it  is  so  rare  a  problem.    It  is  scarcely 
more  than  situation  in  a  dream. 

"But  a  situation  which  might  occur  m 
waking  life.  What  do  you  think  of  Elsa?" 
"I  scarcely  know  what  you  mean.  One 
feels  the  beauty  of  the  conception.  She  is 
so  poetic  a  creation  that  it  seems  like 
defamation  of  character  to  call  her  weak. 

"Do  you  think, ' '  she  went  on,  '  *  that  any- 
thing could  justify  a  modern  man  or  woman 
asking  of  another  such  trust  as  Lqhengrm 
demanded  of  her?" 

There  was  a  sudden  light,  like  that  of  a 


S£ 

tc 


w 


01 

r< 
si 

ai 
tl 


it 

c1 

cl 
tc 

L 

S( 

in 


SLDA 

came  into  oar  box  at 

Qd,  also  lowering  his 
ghtly  towards  her,  "It 
r  our  first  meeting  at 
lember  that  you  would 
you  were  so  taken  up 
rincess  of  Wales." 
,"  she  said,  musingly. 
Reszke  and  Madame 
"How  enraptured  you 

sang!" 

em  of  the  two  lives," 
rested  me  mere  I  think 
le  music." 

problem.    It  is  scarcely 
in  a  dream." 
which   might  occur  in 
lo  you  think  of  Elsa?" 
what  you  mean.     One 
the  conception.     She  is 
,n    that    it    seems  like 
:ter  to  call  her  weak." 
she  went  on,  "that  any- 
modern  man  or  woman 
3uch  trust  as  Lohengrin 


.den  light,  like  that  of  a 


GRISELDA 


«37 


.^^ 


sapphire.  In  Lomond's  blue  eyes.  He  began 
to  understand  her. 

"I  think  it  possible,"  he  said. 

"Possible  to  ask  such  trust?" 

"And  possible  to  give  it,"  he  said,  firmly. 

"On  whose  side?  The  man's  or  the 
woman's?" 

"On  that  of  either. " 

"Think  a  moment,"  she  said,  while  Lom- 
ond helped  himself  to  the  cutlets  she  had 
refused.  "Do  you  sincerely  think  it  pos- 
sible for  a  man  or  woman  in  these  days  to 
')marry  as  Lohengrin  required  that  Elsa  should 
marry  him,  knowing  nothing  of  his  history 
and  not  even  his  name?  Do  you  believe 
that  to  be  possible?" 

"I  can  imagine  circumstances  under  which 
it  might  be  necessary." 

"And  what  do  you  think  would  be  their 
chances  of  happiness?" 

"That  would  depend  on  the  strength  of 
character  displayed  by  the  two  who  decided 
to  take  such  a  course. 

"Does  it  seem  to  you  that  Elsa  and 
Lohengrin  could  have  lived  out  their  year  of 
secrecy  and  trust  without  any  shadow  aris- 
ing between  them?" 

"With  a  stronger  nature  than  Elsa's,  yes." 


:>f 


I 


138 


GRISBLDA 


"That  is  probably  because  you  think  it 
unnecessary  that  a  woman  should  know  all 
about  her  husband,  but  essential  that  a 
man  should  know  all  about  his  wife.  You 
think  that  an  attitude  of  complete  trust  is 
easier  for  her  than  for  him." 

"In  general,  I  suppose,  that  is  true.  But 
there  are  situations  where,  no  doubt,  the 
contrary  is  the  case. " 

"Can  you  imagine  a  man  of  the  world, 
intelligent  and  upright,  going  into  a 
marriage  blindfolded,  knowing  nothmg,  and 
seeking  to  know  nothing  of  the  woman  he 
loves,  loving  her  enough  to  trust  himself 
absolutely  to  her  good  faith?" 

"The  situation  would  be  rare,  but  I  can 
believe  it  to  exist. " 

"And  what  of  the  folly  of  the  man  who 
would  venture  such  a  step?" 

"There  is  a  woman,  with  whom  such  a 
step  would  not  be  folly;  whom  a  man  could 
not  only  love  to  the  uttermost  but  trust  in 
the  face  of  all  appearances." 
"Am  I  that  woman?" 
"Yes.     And  I  am  that  man." 
• '  Thank  you,  * '  she  said  softly,  turning  her 
eyes  away  from  the  flashing  blue  light  in  his. 
For  a  few  moments  neither  spoke.     The 


I.  r 


SLDA 

because  you  think  it 
man  should  know  all 
but  essential  that  a 
about  his  wife.  You 
e  of  complete  trust  is 
■  him." 

ose,  that  is  true.     But 
where,  no  doubt,   the 

a  man  of  the  world, 
right,  going  into  a 
,  knowing  nothing,  and 
hing  of  the  woman  he 
ough  to  trust  himself 
d  faith?" 
uld  be  rare,  but  I  can 

5  folly  of  the  man  who 
\  step?" 

an,  with  whom  such  a 
>lly ;  whom  a  man  could 
5  uttermost  but  trust  in 
ranees." 
n?" 

that  man." 

5  said  softly,  turning  her 
lashing  blue  light  in  hia. 
nts  neither  spoke.    The 


GRISELDA 


139 


conversation  around  them  was  lively  and 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  laughing. 
Marignan,  guessing  something  of  what  was 
taking  place,  gave  his  whole  attention  to 
Miss  Dumbleton.  Lady  Bracknell  chuckled 
and  nodded  towards  one  or  another  of  her 
friends  at  table,  now  and  then  making 
dumb-show  gestures  which  caused  a  laugh. 
Lady  Phillida  and  Grayburn  were  engrossed 
with  each  other,  while  Lady  Glenorchie  and 
Lord  Bracknell  talked  of  the  new  arrange- 
ments for  Her  Majesty's  Drawing  Room, 
which  were  giving  so  much  dissatisfaction. 
Lomond  and  Griselda  not  to  attract  atten- 
tion, engaged  also  in  the  general  conversa- 
tion until  a  convenient  moment  came  to  talk 
together  again. 

"You  must  forgive  me  for  being  the  first 
to  bring  the  subject  up  again,"  Griselda 
said.  "I  ought  to  have  waited,  but  there 
was  no  time.     I  am  in  great  trouble." 

Lomond  looked  at  her.  She  was  flushed 
and  trembling. 

"You  can  have  no  trouble  that  is  not 
mine,"  he  said.  "Let  me  help  you.  Let 
us  bear  everything  together.  We  are  both 
young  and  strong.  There  is  nothing  we 
cannot  face  if  you  love  me." 


ir     '   V«: 


'■'■y 


;i 


aHK^a>;!ti<sit{4»a»K8Mi»' 


^1 


'3 
3 


,40  GRISELDA 

"You  must  know  that  1  love  you,"  she 
said  with  a  faint  smile.  "You  must  know 
it  as  well  as  I  know  that  you  love  me." 

"I  didn't  know  it  till  now.  You  have 
been  so  elusive,  so  perplexing,  so  con- 
tradictory." 

"I  had  to  be.  I  have  still  to  be.  That  is 
where  I  must  ask  you  to  bear  with  me,  to 
have  faith  that  I  am  acting  for  the  best,  or 

else •" 

She  hesitated. 

"Or  else  what?" 

"Or  else  our  love  must  end  where  it  has 

begun." 

"Better  anything  else  in  the  world  than 
that,"  he  said  firmly.  "Don't  you  see  that 
we  belong  to  each  other,  that  we  were  made 
for  each  other.  Griselda,  I  will  never  let 
you  go.  Once  knowing  that  you  care  for 
me,  I  will  do  the  impossible  rather  than  lose 
you.  I  know  that  in  the  end  we  can  make 
my  mother  happy.  She  will  come  to  see 
you  as  I  do." 

"That  must  be  as  it  may,  Nigel.  I  for 
one  will  work  and  pray  for  it.  I  will  win 
her  if  it  is  possible  for  one  heart  to  con- 
quer  another.  Only  if  we  are  to  succeed  we 
must  be  prompt.    There  is  no  time  to  lose; 


S1I. 


iELDA 


GRISELDA 


141 


that  1  love  you,"  she 
lile.     "You  must  know 
that  you  love  me." 
t  till  now.     You  have 
o    perplexing,   so  con- 

ave  still  to  be.  That  is 
ou  to  bear  with  me,  to 
a  acting  for  the  best,  or 


e  must  end  where  it  has 

else  in  the  world  than 
J.  "Don't  you  see  that 
ther,  that  we  were  made 
riselda,  I  will  never  let 
>wing  that  you  care  for 
ipossible  rather  than  lose 
in  the  end  we  can  make 
She  will  come  to  see 

as  it  may,  Nigel.  I  for 
I  pray  for  it.  I  will  win 
le  for  one  heart  to  con- 
ly  if  we  are  to  succeed  we 
There  is  no  time  to  lose; 


that  is  why  I  speak  of  it  here  and  now.  I 
told  you  I  was  in  trouble,  and  it  is  this. 
Mr  Graybum,  my  guardian,  will  insist  on 
taking  me  away  to-morrow.  That  in  itself 
is  a  small  thing;  but  he  does  it  because  he 
wants  to  marry  me. ' ' 

Lomond  started  with  astonishment. 

"Of  course,"  Griselda  continued,  "I  can 
struggle  and  refuse ;  but  I  love  him,  and  a 
life  of  constant  battling  with  his  will  would 
be  terrible  to  me.  Besides,"  she  added, 
confronting  his  gaze  with  an  expression  at 
once  maidenly  and  passionate,  "besides  I 
cannot  turn  away  from  your  love  and  give 
it  up.  It  is  my  only  refuge  in  the  world. 
Will  you  take  me  into  it?" 

"From  this  moment,"  Lomond  replied, 
the  vibration  of  his  voice  betraying  the 
intensity  of  his  emotion,  "from  this 
moment  I  am  your  protector.  I  am  all  that 
you  have  never  had  in  father,  mother,  or 
brother.  I  shall  never  ask  your  secret.  I 
shall  never  look  for  any  explanation  but 
such  as  you  yourself  may  give.  Tell  me 
what  you  care  to  tell,  or  tell  me  nothing  at 
all.  I  love  you;  and  I  am  glad,  I  am  proud, 
to  prove  my  love  like  this,  to  prove  my 
faith,    to    prove   my    conviction    that   the 


,48  GRISELDA 

woman  who  is  to  be  my  wife  is  as  high  and 
holy  in  mind  as  she  is  beautiful  in  person." 
"And  you  will  not  find  your  trust  mis- 
placed," she  said,  lifting  her  head  proudly. 
"Of  what  you  give  me  I  shall  prove  myself 

worthy." 

"And  I  too,"  he  said,  bending  towards 
her  with  a  deference  almost  humble,  "I 
too  shall  try  to  deserve  the  great  blessing  of 

your  love." 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  silence. 
When  Griselda  spoke  her  eyes  shone  with 

tears. 

"Now,"  shp  said,  smiling,  '*!  can  go 
away.     I  sh^ll  be  afraid  of  nothing. " 

"You  shall  not  go  away  until  you  are 
known  to  every  one  here  as  my  promised 

wife."  ,       . 

"Miss  Grant,"  said  Waynfiete,  leamng 
across  the  table,  "do  you  know  the  differ- 
ence between  a  chicken  with  its  neck  broken 
and  the  Tenth  Sunday  after  Trinity?" 

The  lighter-minded  guests  were  amusing 
themselves  with  riddles.  Thus  called  upon 
Griselda  was  obliged  to  make  some  suitable 
reply.  Again  she  and  Lomond  joined  in 
the  general  talk,  trying  to  take  the  same 
tone  as  their  neighbors;  and  succeeding  so 


i 
( 
1 


;LDA 

f  wife  is  as  high  and 
beautiful  in  person." 

find  your  trust  mis- 
Lg  her  head  proudly. 

I  shall  prove  myself 

lid,  bending  towards 

almost  humble,  "I 

!  the  great  blessing  of 

ts  there  was  silence, 
her  eyes  shone  with 

smiling,    '*!    can    go 
id  of  nothing." 
»  away  until  you  are 
here  as  my  promised 

1  Waynfiete,  leaning 
I  you  know  the  differ- 
n  with  its  neck  broken 
y  after  Trinity?" 
guests  were  amusing 
es.  Thus  called  upon 
to  make  some  suitable 
nd  Lomond  joined  in 
ing  to  take  the  same 
jrs;  and  succeeding  so 


GRISELDA 


M3 


well  that  before  another  opportunity  was 
given  them  for  private  speech  Lady  Glen- 
orchie  rose.  Griselda  tried  to  say.  a  last 
word  in  passing,  but  finding  it  impossible 
silently  followed  Miss  Dumbleton  from  the 
room. 

"Because  its  neck's  weak  —  next  week, 
don't  you  see?"  Waynfiete  called  out  to 
Griselda  as  he  held  the  door  open  for  the 
ladies  to  pass.     "Very  good,  ain't  it?" 

Griselda  smiled,  but  had  for  the  moment 
neither  the  wit  nor  the  will  to  reply. 

Waynfiete  closed  the  door  behind  her  with 
a  mental  observation  that  women  had  no 
sense  of  humor. 

Lady  >  'enorchie  led  her  guests  not  into 
the  dr    ■  oom,  but  to  the  great  hall,  a 

large  a,  :;  ■:■■./  apartment  of  baronial  aspect 
but  neither  too  stately  nor  too  cold.  On  the 
contrary  the  great  hall  was  the  brightest 
and  most  cheerful  of  all  the  bright  and 
cheerful  rooms  in  Lomond  Lodge.  The 
walls  were  hung  with  the  most  striking 
portraits — Holbeins,  Vandykes,  Lelys  and 
Gainsboroughs— of  the  house  of  TuUoch. 
Here  and  there  a  piece  of  tapestry  charmed 
Ihe  eye  with  its  soft  blues  and  greens.  A 
large  open  fire-place  with  a  famous  carved 


,44  GRISELDA 

white  marble  mantel-piece,  brought  by  the 
last  Lord  Lomond  from   an  old  house  in 
Verona,    suggested  warmth  and  welcome. 
The  staircase,  also  of  white  marble,  carpeted 
in  red,  lent  dignity  to  the  hall  and  half  way 
up  its  length  branched  off  in  both  direc- 
tions, as  though  to  make  a  place  for  "Le  bel 
Ecossais,"  who  from  this  point  of  vantage 
looked  down   upon   the   scene.      Over  the 
mantel-piece  hung  Gainsborough's  portrait 
of  Alison  Tulloch,  whose  marriage  with  the 
first  Lord  Glenorchie  had  recently  brought 
the   Lomond  earldom    into    the    house  of 
Graham.     All  other  furnishings  of  the  great 
hall  were  modern,  meant  for  use  and  com- 
fort.    Luxurious  chairs  invited  the  lounger 
to  literature,  contemplation,  or  repose.    The 
newest  books,  journals,  and  magazines  were 
scattered    about     in    agreeable    disorder; 
while  in  quiet  comers  there  were  tables  on 
which  were  writing  materials  or  cigars  and 

cigarettes. 

Lady  Bracknell  having  taken  a  comfort- 
able chair  near  the  foot  of  the  staircase. 
Lady  Glenorchie  sat  down  beside  her,  thron- 
ing herself,  as  it  were,  in  a  straight  and 
high-backed  Gothic  seat,  right  in  the  centre 
of  the  hall.     Lady  Phillida  and  Miss  Dum- 


!»sv 


„iu„i«».^-.--<*»»^  "■*«■••'' 


m 


ILDA 

•iece,  brought  by  the 
)in   an  old  house  in 
irmth  and  welcome, 
hite  marble,  carpeted 
;he  hall  and  half  way 
d  off  in  both  direc- 
ce  a  place  for  "Le  bel 
this  point  of  vantage 
le   scene.      Over  the 
insborough's  portrait 
>se  marriage  with  the 
had  recently  brought 
into    the    house  of 
irnishings  of  the  great 
lant  for  use  and  com- 
rs  invited  the  lounger 
ation,  or  repose.    The 
J,  and  magazines  were 
agreeable    disorder; 
J  there  were  tables  on 
tiaterials  or  cigars  and 

ving  taken  a  comfort- 
foot  of  the  staircase, 
own  beside  her,  thron- 
jre,  in  a  straight  and 
sat,  right  in  the  centre 
lillida  and  Miss  Dum- 


GRISELDA 


«45 


bleton  in  their  lower  places  looked  like 
dames  of  honor  waiting  on  a  queen. 
Griselda,  engrossed  with  her  own  emotions, 
remained  standing  somewhat  apart,  idly 
turning  the  pages  of  T/ie  Illustrated  London 
News.  A  servant  brought  in  coffee.  The 
ladies  talked  of  the  recent  marriage  of  Lord 
Dover  to  a  young  lady  of  the  music  halls, 
the  news  of  which  Lord  Bracknell  had  just 
brought  down  from  London.  Lady  Phillida 
regretted  it,  Miss  Dumbleton  was  silent. 
Lady  Bracknell  was  amused. 

"The  wife  is  no  doubt  worthy  of  the  hus- 
band," said  Lady  Glenorchie  scornfully, 
•'but  I  am  sorry  for  Eliza  Dover.  Her  son 
was  all  she  had  to  live  for,  and  now  he  is 
worse  than  dead.  No  misfortune  is  equal 
to  that  of  an  unworthy  marriage.  Other 
mistakes  can  be  rectified;  other  troubles 
can  be  lived  down.  But  a  marriage  stamps 
husband  and  wife  forever  and  indelibly 
with  its  own  peculiar  quality  whatever  it 
may  be.  The  man  who  marries  an  adven- 
turess can  never  raise  her  to  his  level ;  he 
must  sink  to  hers.  She  may  have  beauty, 
intelligence,  and  the  very  best  intentions, 
but  she  can  never  be  to  her  husband  other 
than  a  great  and  permanent  misfortune. ' 


146 


GRISELDA 


it 


Griselda,  standing  with  the  journal  in  her 
hand,  distinctly  heard  each  word,  and  knew 
that  it  was  meant  for  her;  but  Lady  Glen- 
orchie  had  scarcely  finished  speaking  when 
the  door  at  the  further  end  of  the  hall  was 
opened  and  the  men  came  in. 

Lomond  walked  first;  behind  him  Lord 
Bracknell  and  Marignan  were  talking 
together;  Garth  and  Waynflete  followed; 
Grayburn  was  last  and  alone. 

Lomond  came  up  the  hall,  walking  swiftly, 
his  head  erect,  his  cheek  flushed,  his  blue 
eyes  flashing.  Griselda  had  a  sense  of 
danger.  She  put  down  her  journal  and 
hastily  moved  towards  him.  She  divined 
what  was  to  follow  and  would  have  stopped 
him,  but  he  was  too  quick  for  her. 

Seizing  her  hand  he  led  her  forward  to 
where  his  mother  sat  on  her  throne-like 
chair.  The  other  men,  seeing  the  action 
pressed  on  in  curiosity  and  surprise.  The 
group  of  women  sat  amazed  and  motion- 
less. 

'•No,  no,  Nigel,  not  now,"  Griselda  cried, 

trying  to  release  herself  and  shrinking  back. 

"Yes,  now,  Miss  Grant,"  Lady  Glenorchie 

said  with  a  sudden  sternness,  from  which 

all  her  accustomed  gentleness  was   gone. 


w«BW«on«fc»«**«« 


,.4w»ia«*««i*»<^*'*"*'' ' 


5LDA 


GRISELDA 


»47 


ith  the  journal  in  her 
each  word,  and  knew 
her ;  but  Lady  Glen- 
lished  speaking  when 
ir  end  of  the  hall  was 
ame  in. 

St;  behind  him  Lord 
ignan    were     talking 
Waynflete   followed; 
1  alone. 

B  hall,  walking  swiftly, 
lieek  flushed,  his  blue 
Ida  had  a  sense  of 
own  her  journal  and 
Is  him.  She  divined 
d  would  have  stopped 
uick  for  her. 
le  led  her  forward  to 
it  on  her  throne-like 
en,  seeing  the  action 
ty  and  surprise.  The 
t  amazed  and  motion- 

t  now,"  Griselda  cried, 
elf  and  shrinking  back, 
rant,"  Lady  Glenorchie 
sternness,  from  which 
gentleness  was   gone. 


"Yes,  now,"  she  repeated,    "now  as  well 
as  another  time." 

"You  are  right,  mother,"  Lomond  cried, 
"I  bring  you  my  future  wife.  Welcome 
her — now  as  well  as  another  time.  * ' 

There  was  a  moment  of  deep  silence. 
Griselda  stood  before  Lady  Glenorchie 
with  bowed  head  and  cheeks  aflame.  She 
was  half  terrified,  half  indignant  at  being 
thus  haled,  without  warning  or  prepara- 
tion, before  her  judge. 

The  minute  of  silence  seemed  long.  All 
eyes  were  fixed  on  Lady  Glenorchie,  who 
rose  slowly  as  though  to  deliver  sentence. 
Her  face  was  pale ;  her  bearing  regal ;  her 
black  robes  swept  around  her  feet.  Gray- 
burn  stood  apart,  turning  his  gaze  first  on 
one  and  then  on  another  of  the  three  chief 
actors  in  the  scene.  Then  in  a  low, 
f  estrained,  passionless  voice  Lady  Glenorchie 
spoke. 

"You  cannot  marry  this  young  lady, 
Lomond.  Do  you  know  who  she  is?  No,  of 
course  not.  Then  I  will  tell  you,  since  I 
am  sure  she  has  not  done  so  herself. 
Listen  to  me." 

Griselda  raised  her  head  and  looked  at 
Lady  Glenorchie.     The  flush  of  shame  had 


P 


$ 


JUJlS*^*'"''''' 


•—  r 


,,;  ^^^-,^vtjia»^>f^i».  i.wca.oaw«ga»sa*-i.^-^jMe:^^ 


11 


.1 


148 


GRISELDA 


■ii- 


fe-'k 


(.1! 


4    I 
f   I 


I'" 


died  from  her  cheek,  but  in  her  eyes  there 
was  the  first  bright  light  of  anger.  What 
would  this  woman  say?  What  did  she 
know?    How  far  would  she  go? 

•'This  young  lady,"  said  Lady  Glenorchie, 
speaking  coldly  and  clearly,  "is  the 
daughter  of  a  maidservant.  Her  father,  or 
reputed  father,  died  as  a  felon  in  America. 
She  has,  however,  no  right  to  his  name;  she 
bears  her  mother's.  Her  education  was 
probably  given  her  as  a  charity.  Her 
means  come  from— she  herself  best  knows 
where." 

"Mother,  mother!"  cried  Lomond,  making 
a  step  forward  as  though  to  force  her  to  be 

silent.     "Mother,  for  God's  sake " 

"I  will  speak,  Lomond,"  she  said,  quietly. 
"You  have  brought  this  on  Miss  Grant 
and  on  yourself.  Had  you  come  to  me  in 
private  I  should  have  told  you  in  private. 
But  it  is  better  that  all  our  friends  should 
know  the  truth,  than  that  you  should  bring 
upon  yourself  such  dishonor.  Marry  her  if 
you  will,  Nigel,  but  at  least  do  so  knowing 
who  she  is,  and  not  as  a  dupe  and  a  tool." 

Lady  Glenorchie  sat  down  again.  There 
was  another  pause.  Lomond  stood  like  a 
man  shot  who  has  not  yet  fallen.    Graybum 


J 


ELDA 

but  in  her  eyes  there 
ight  of  anger.  What 
say?  What  did  she 
Id  she  go? 

said  Lady  Glenorchie, 
d  clearly,  "is  the 
rvant.  Her  father,  or 
as  a  felon  in  America, 
right  to  his  name ;  she 
Her  education  was 
as  a  charity.  Her 
;he  herself  best  knows 

cried  Lomond,  making 
ugh  to  force  her  to  be 

God's  sake " 

ond,"  she  said,  quietly. 

this  on  Miss  Grant 
ad  you  come  to  me  in 
re  told  you  in  private. 
:  all  our  friends  should 
a  that  you  should  bring 
lishonor.  Marry  her  if 
at  least  do  so  knowing 
LS  a  dupe  and  a  tool." 
at  down  again.     There 

Lomond  stood  like  a 
)t  yet  fallen.    Graybum 


GRISELDA 


149 

Not 


Stroked  his  beard  and  made  no  sign, 
one  of  the  guests  moved. 

Griselda  stood  absolutely  still  passing 
through  every  feeling  of  shame,  indignation, 
and  outraged  self-respect.  Had  Lomond 
leaped  instantly  to  her  side  she  would  have 
thrown  herself  in^.o  his  arms  and  remained 
silent.  But  he  stood  near  his  mother,  as 
though  turned  to  stone.  The  instants  were 
brief,  but  they  seemed  long.  A  great  wave 
of  anger  surged  up  rapidly  in  the  girl's  pas- 
sionate, desperate  heart — of  anger  which 
enveloped  mother  and  son  together  in  one 
immense  outpouring  of  resentment  and  dis- 
dain. When  she  spoke  her  voice  was  low 
but  her  emphasis  was  quick  and  cutting. 

"I  will  not  marry  you,  Lord  Lomond," 
she  said,  turning  towards  him.  "I  could 
not  now.  Lady  Glenorchie  has  told  you 
some  of  the  truth.  Let  me  tell  it  all.  You 
knew  there  was  something  in  my  life  which 
I  could  not  explain  to  you.  I  will  do  it 
now.  I  do  it  unwillingly,  forced  by  insults 
which  no  woman  could  bear  without  resent- 
ment, which  I  at  least  will  not  bear  out  of 
respect  for  my  own  mother's  name.  It  is 
true  she  was  a  maidservant.  It  is  true  my 
father  was  a  felon.     But  it  is  also  true  that 


:  visaaiifcgriaitffc.'aaSiggf^'  ■ 


150 


GRISELDA 


I  am  their  lawful  child.  It  is  true  that  I 
have  borne  my  mother's  and  not  my 
father's  name.  His  name  was  Kenneth 
Tulloch.  Had  he  lived  he  would  have 
been  Earl  of  Lomond." 

Griselda  paused.  There  was  a  slight 
movement  and  a  long-drawn  breath  among 
the  guests.  Grayburn  still  stood  stroking 
his  beard  and  looking  on.  Neither  Lomond 
nor  his  mother  moved. 

"Lady  Glenorchie,"  said  Griselda,  turning 
towards  the  queen-like  figure  in  the  Gothic 
chair,  "you  know  what  that  means.     It  is 
I    who    have    inherited    the    Earldom    of 
Lomond.    I  have  the  means  to  prove  my 
right.     I  came  to  England  to  do  so.     Then 
I  met  your  son.    We  loved  each  other.     He 
asked  me  to  be  his  wife.     I  could  not  tell 
him  who  I  was  lest  his  honor  should  have 
insisted  on  putting  my  pretensions  to  the 
test.      In  that  case  I  might  have    failed. 
His  generosity  might  still  have  been  shown 
to  me,  but  I  could  not  then  have  accepted 
it.     On  the  other  hand  I  might  have  won. 
Then  he  would  have  accepted  nothing  from 
me.     Lady  Glenorchie,"  she  went  on,  with 
a  deeper  ring  of  passion  in  her  voice,  "I 
ioved  your  son  well  enough  to  give  up  all  for 


iaMtSSt(fl»i^'.te-- 


J 


ELDA 


GRISELDA 


151 


liild.  It  is  true  that  I 
ather's  and  not  my 
i  name  was  Kenneth 
lived   he   would    have 

There  was  a  slight 
g-drawn  breath  among 
rn  still  stood  stroking 
r  on.     Neither  Lomond 

d. 

"  said  Griselda,  turning 
ike  figure  in  the  Gothic 
'hat  that  means.     It  is 
■ited     the    Earldom    of 
e  means  to  prove  my 
agland  to  do  so.     Then 
3  loved  each  other.     He 
wife.     I  could  not  tell 
his  honor  should  have 
my  pretensions  to  the 
1   I   might  have    failed. 
it  still  have  been  shown 
not  then  have  accepted 
and  I  might  have  won. 
e  accepted  nothing  from 
;hie,"  she  went  on,  with 
lassion  in  her  voice,  "I 
enough  to  give  up  all  for 


him.  If  you  had  only  received  me  I  should 
never  have  spoken  of  this,  not  till  the  end 
of  time.  Before  answering  him  I  came  here 
with  the  one  purpose  of  seeing  you,  of  try- 
ing to  win  your  affection,  or  at  least  your 
toleration.  When  I  failed  in  that  I  was  will- 
ing to  bear  your  reproaches,  your  scorn, 
your  worst  ill-will,  rather  than  give  up  the 
man  I  loved.  But  after  your  words  to- 
night I  can  bear  no  more.  I  can  keep 
silent  no  longer.  I  have  my  mother's  honor 
to  avenge.  I  claim  to  be  Griselda  Tulloch, 
Countess  of  Lomond.  I  contest  your  son's 
right  to  bear  my  father's  name.  I  contest 
your  right  to  rule  in  this  house.  If  I  fail  you 
will  have  suffered  no  wrong.  If  I  succeed,  it 
will  be  because  you  by  your  haughty  cruelty, 
by  your  never-ceasing  unkindness  towards  a 
forlorn  and  defenceless  girl  have  forced  me 
to  claim  my  own." 

She  paused  and  turning  towards  Lomond 
held  out  her  hand. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said.  "It  might  have 
been  otherwise.     Now  it  is  all  over. " 

"No,  by  God!"  the  young  man  cried, 
seizing  her  hand  in  both  of  his  and  drawing 
her  towards  him.     "It  shall  not  end  thus." 

"Let  me  go,"  she  said,  with  the  same  air 


if  II' 


r^ 


,5,  GRISELDA 

of    self-possession.     "It    must    end   thus. 
Good-bye.     Good-bye."  ^     .       ^^ 

Without  looking  at  any  one  she  turned 
and  walked  towards  Graybum 

-Take  me  away,"  she  said,  puttmg  her 
arm  in  his,  "now,  to-night."  ., 

-Not  without  me,"  cried  Lady  PhiUida, 
who  broke  the  tension  among  the  guests 
by  rising  and  throwing  her  arms  around 
Griselda  The  girl  clung  to  ^er  wi\h  a 
quick  almost  hysterical  sob,  and  together 
?he  two  women  followed  by  Graybum  left 

the  hall.  .„    .    .  „i,- 

Lady  Glenorchie  sat  quite  still,  but  she 

seemed  to  have  suddenly  Sro^\''^&-^2 
face  was  white  and  haggard,  her  mouth 
drawn,  and  her  eyes  dull.  But  she  mastered 
herself  quickly  remembering  who  and  what 

^^-iT  has  been  quite  like  a  scene  in  private 
theatricals,"  she  said  with  an^"empt  to 
smile  "Nigel  how  can  you  be  so  rasn? 
You  do  such  impetuous  things  Now  that 
the  play  is  over  perhaps  Lord  Bracknell 
would  like  a  game  of  wh'st. " 

"I  don't  think  Lord  Bracknell  cares  to 
play  to-night,"  said  Lomond  significantly-  ^^ 

"No    no,  certainly  not,  certainly  not, 


i7\ 


r  tl-MSlhi^-^--''^^'**''^'*- 


ELDA 

"It    must    end   thus. 

• » 

,t  any  one  she  turned 
Graybum. 
she  said,  putting  her 

-night." 

"  cried  Lady  Phillida, 
iion  among  the  guests 
ving  her  arms  around 
clung  to  her  with  a 
ical  sob,  and  together 
owed  by  Graybum  left 

sat  quite  still,  but  she 
denly  grown  old.  Her 
i  haggard,  her  mouth 
I  dull.  But  she  mastered 
embering  who  and  what 

te  like  a  scene  in  private 
aid  with  an  attempt  to 
w  can  you  be  so  rash? 
tuous  things.  Now  that 
perhaps  Lord  Bracknell 
of  whist." 

Lord  Bracknell  cares  to 
i  Lomond  significantly, 
inly  not,  certainly  not," 


GRISELDA 


^53 


said  the  old  peer,  rising  hastily  and  beck- 
oning to  his  wife.  "I  am  sure  it  is  time 
for  us  to  be  going ;  I  know  our  carriage  is 
at  the  door." 

When  they  had  gone  the  other  guests 
found  reasons  for  following  their  example, 
and  Nigel  and  his  mother  were  left  alone. 


^^easwWwiSi*^'*''**!^^' 


^^.iJ>JS&^**.^'*  ^--- 


m 


?itl 


if. 


Lady  Phillida,  Grayburn  and  Grisslda 
returned  that  night  to  London.  The  two 
ladies  went  to  Queen's  Gate,  he  to  an  hotel. 

In  the  morning  Grayburn  came  to  see 
his  ward.  He  found  her  in  her  little 
sitting  room  upstairs.  She  was  ner- 
vously pacing  up  and  down,  a  hectic  spot 
burning  on  each  cheek  and  her  eyes  fever- 
ishly bright. 

"Come  in,  come  in,"  she  said  with  excite- 
ment in  her  voice,  "I  was  going  to  send  for 
you.     I  wanted  to  see  you." 

Grayburn,  correctly  dressed  as  usual, 
placed  his  hat  and  gloves  on  the  nearest 
table,  and  going  forward  took  both  her 
hands  in  his  and  kissed  her  gravely  on  the 
forehead. 

"You  are  a  brave  girl,"  he  said.  "You 
threw  down  the  glove  last  night  like  a 
soldier." 

"Did  I?"  she  said  with  a  nervous  laugh. 
"I  hope  so.  And  now  we  must  fight  our 
battle." 

154 


sti 
fa 
it 

do 
yo 

he 

I] 

ha 

yo 

bit 
th( 
bri 
ou 
bn 

inj 
firs 
am 
tui 
del 


"-^w 


MtMMWMMHMMM 


ir«|g<irfteiW'r<'Mfe'| 


GRISELDA 


jurn  and  Griselda 
London.  The  two 
rate,  he  to  an  hotel, 
burn  came  to  see 
her  in  her  little 
She  was  ner- 
lown,  a  hectic  spot 
and  her  eyes  fever- 

;he  said  with  excite- 
as  going  to  send  for 

dressed  as  usual, 
ves  on  the  nearest 
ird    took  both   her 

her  gravely  on  the 

rl,"  he  said.     "You 
!  last  night    like   a 

th  a  nervous  laugh, 
we  must  fight  our 


"And  win  it." 

"Yes,  and  win  it,"  she  repeated.  "I  have 
staked  everything  on  that.  We  must  not 
fail  now  or  show  the  white  feather  whatever 
it  may  cost." 

"It  will  not  cost  much,"  he  said,  looking 
down  into  her  eyes.  "Only  what  I  asked 
you  yesterday. ' ' 

"You  still  desire  that,  after  what  you 
heard  last  night?" 

"I  never  change,  I  never  forsake  the  ends 
I  have  once  had  in  view." 

"You  would  marry  me,  knowing  that  I 
have  given  my  heart  elsewhere?" 

"Knowing  rather,  that  you  have  found 
yourself  mistaken." 

"Yes,  I  have  found  that,"  she  said 
bitterly.  "I  was  mistaken.  I  admit  it.  I 
thought  I  loved  him.  I  thought  he  was 
brave  and  manly,  and  yet  he  listened  with- 
out a  word  while  I  was "     Her  voice 

broke,  she  could  not  go  on. 

"My  little  girl,"  he  said  soothingly,  draw- 
ing her  towards  him,  "you  have  had  your 
first  taste  of  the  bitterness  of  life.  But  I 
am  here  to  help  you.  To  whom  should  you 
turn  rather  than  to  me?  These  people  have 
despised  you  from    the    first.     You  were 


156' 


GRISELDA 


wrong  to  trust  yourself  among  them.  But 
we  shall  have  our  revenge;  and  when  you 
next  go  to  Lomond  Lodge  it  shall  Tie  as 
mistress,  and  with  me." 

"I  shall  never  go  there  again,  not  if  I 
were  its  mistress  a  thousand  times,"  she  said 
vehemently.  "I  want  only  one  thing — to 
prove  the  claim  I  made  last  night,  to  show 
them  that  I  am  their  equal,  even  if  I  was 
born  amid  horror  and  shame.  I  want  to 
humble  them  as  they  have  humbled  me. 
Then  they  can  keep  the  Lomond  lands  and 
the  Lomond  money  and  the  Lomond  titles 
too.  I,  at  least,  shall  not  take  them.  I 
want  to  clear  my  mother's  name  and  my 
own  honor,  and  make  them  acknowledge 
themselves  beaten.  Then  I  shall  be 
content." 

She  began  again  to  pace  feverishly  up 
and  down  the  room. 

"You  can  do  all  that,"  Graybum  said, 
leaning  his  arm  on  the  mantel-piece,  and 
closely  watching  her  quick,  excited  move- 
ments. "You  can  do  it  easily,  but  not  with- 
out me." 

"You  will  help  me?  You  will  help  me? 
I  know  you  will  help  me.  You  would  not 
leave  me  to  fight  this  battle  alone?" 


he 
cc 

tl 

qi 
ti 
it 

m 
si 
Y 
si 
si 


b 

g 
n 
is 

tl 
a 
n 


1 


LDA 

among  them.  But 
snge;  and  when  you 
lOdge  it  shall  Toe  as 

[lere  again,  not  if  I 
sand  times,"  she  said 

only  one  thing — to 
e  last  night,  to  show 
equal,  even  if  I  was 

shame.     I  want  to 

have  humbled  me. 
,e  Lomond  lands  and 
id  the  Lomond  titles 

not  take  them.  I 
ther's  name  and  my 
i  them  acknowledge 

Then    I    shall    be 

)  pace  feverishly  up 

lat,"  Grayburn  said, 
be  mantel-piece,  and 
quick,  excited  move- 
t  easily,  but  not  with- 

'  You  will  help  me? 
me.  You  would  not 
aattle  alone?" 


GRISELDA 


«57 


She  stopped  before  him,  and  he  looked  at 
her  with  a  significant  smile. 

"Yes,  I  will  help  you,"  he  said.  **Of 
course;  but  at  my  own  price,  and  only  at 
that." 

"Then  I  will  pay  it,"  she  said,  with  a 
quick,  strong  effort,  while  something  like 
the  resolution  of  despair  flashed  in  her  eyes. 
"I  will  pay  it  to  the  uttermost;  only  we 
must  win.  When  I  have  humbled  them  I 
shall  care  for  nothing  further  for  myself. 
You  shall  do  with  me  what  you  will.  I 
shall  have  sold  myself  to  you  and  I  will  not 
shrink  from  the  contract." 

"Spoken  again  like  a  soldier." 

"Oh,  yes, * '  she  cried  impatiently.  " I  can 
be  brave.  I  have  always  had  the  quality  of 
going  on  without  breaking  down.  I  shall 
not  break  down  now — neither  now  nor 
later.  But  there  is  something  better  in  life 
than  courage,  and  I  am  losing  that.  I  have 
already  lost  it.  I  shall  never  have  it  any 
more." 

But  she  dashed  away  the  tears  that  were 
gathering  and  controlled  herself. 

"Never  mind,  never  mind,"  she  went  on, 
trying  to  laugh.  "We  shall  at  least  have 
the  excitement  of  the  fight.     We  shall  fill 


»S8 


GRISELDA 


iif' 


our  lives  with  that.     We  shall  know  that 
Lady  Glenorchie  is  eating  out  her  own  heart 
with  rage  and  shame  and  humiliation.     And 
he?    What  will  he  do?    He  will  go  abroad 
I  suppose;  beaten  by  a  woman;  beaten  by 
the  woman  he  loved  but  whom  he  had  not 
the  courage  to  defend.     He  will  know  then 
what  he  has  lost.     It   will  be  more   than 
honors,  it  will   be  honor.     Yes,  yes,  it  is 
worth  paying  for.     I  will  give  you  what  you 
ask   the    very  day  we  bring  about   their 
defeat.     Go  on,  go  on,  and  count  on  me.     I 
shall  not  fail  you.     I  shall  be  ready.     I  am 
ready  even   now.     When    can    we   begin? 
When  can  we  send  in  our  petition  to  the 
Queen?    Who  is  this  Garter  King  at  Arms? 
Why  cannot  we  go  to  him?    I  am  ready — " 
•'Gently,  gently,  dear,"  Gray  burn   said, 
laying  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  stop- 
ping her  in  her  feverish  walk.     "You  are 
nervous  and  over-wrought.     You  must  not 
make  yourself  ill.     You  are  tired  and  ought 
to  rest.    You  have  need  of  all  your  strength. 
I    shall    go  away,  and  you  had  better  lie 
down.     When  I  come  back  this  evening  I 
shall  explain  everything  to  you  and  all  our 
line  of  action.     You  will   then  be   better 
able  to  understand." 


( 

cal 

hai 
tin 
Go 
yoi 

Gri 
cha 

c 

be 
sol( 

me 

1 

mu 
Ik 
to  ] 
the 
Bu 
res 
I 
car 
nai 
in 
try 


.DA 


GRISELDA 


«S9 


^e  shall  know  that 
r  out  her  own  heart 
[  humiliation.  And 
He  will  go  abroad 
woman;  beaten  by 
t  whom  he  had  not 

He  will  know  then 
will  be  more  than 
)r.  Yes,  yes,  it  is 
1  give  you  what  you 

bring  about  their 
ind  count  on  me.  I 
lall  be  ready.  I  am 
;n  can  we  begin? 
our  petition  to  the 
irter  King  at  Arms? 
im?  I  am  ready — " 
r,"  Gray  burn    said, 

shoulder  and  stop- 
ih  walk.  "You  are 
ght.     You  must  not 

are  tired  and  ought 
of  all  your  strength. 

you  had  better  lie 
back  this  evening  I 
g  to  you  and  all  our 
viW   then  be   better 


Griselda  controlled  herself  and  grew  more 
calm. 

"You  are  right,"  ihe  said,  dashing  her 
hand  across  her  eyes.  "I  suppose  I  am 
tired.  My  head  aches  as  well  as  my  heart. 
Go  away,  now,  and  I  shall  be  better  when 
you  return." 

When  he  had  kissed  her  and  withdrawn, 
Griselda  sank  helplessly  into  the  nearest 
chair,  her  emotion  changed. 

"After  all,"  she  said  to  herself,  "I  am  to 
be  his  wife.  I  have  sold  myself!  I  have 
sold  myself!"    Then  she  moaned  aloud. 

"My  God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken 
me!" 

The  sound  of  her  own  \oice  startled  her. 

"No,  no,"  she  said  to  herself  again.  "I 
must  not  talk  like  that.  I  shall  go  mad  if 
I  let  myself  go  on.  I  have  too  much  to  do 
to  give  way.  When  I  have  done  to  them  as 
they  have  done  to  me,  it  will  not  matter. 
But  now  I  must  be  calm  and  cool.  I  must 
rest." 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  a 
card  was  brought  to  Griselda  bearing  the 
name  of  Lord  Glenorchie.  She  was  sitting 
in  the  drawing  room  with  Lady  Phillida, 
trying  to  drink  a  cup  of  tea. 


i6o 


GRISELDA 


n^ 


'J 


"I  cannot  see  him,"  she  said,  as  she 
passed  the  card  to  Lady  Phillida.  "Will 
you  see  him  for  me?  Tell  him  what  I  have 
said.  Explain  to  him  that  any  further 
meeting  between  us  under  the  circumstances 
•ovould  be  useless  to  him  and  impossible  to 
me.     I  have  taken  the  fatal  step,  dnd  I  must 

goon." 

"It  may  be  best  for  me  to  see  him,"  said 
Lady  Phillida.  "I  can  do  so  at  any  rate, 
and  send  for  you  if  it  becomes  necessary." 

Griselda  rose  to  go  away  and,  as  she  did 
so,  mechanically  took  up  the  card  which 
Lady  Phillida  had  laid  down.  For  the  first 
time  she  took  note  of  the  change  of  title. 

"He  calls  himself  Lord  Glenorchie,"  she 
said.     "Have  you  noticed  it?' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Phillida,  "It  is  delicate 
on  his  part." 

"It  is  odious  on  mine,"  Griselda  cried, 
"odious,  horribly  odious,  to  try  to  take  from 
any  one  what  he  is  in  possession  of  and  what 
he  no  doubt  enjoys.  I  should  never  have 
done  it  if  she  had  not  driven  me  into  it.  But 
I  cannot  go  back  now.  See  him  and  tell 
him  so.  Tell  him  that  after  his  fear  and 
hesitation  last  night  I  no  longer  care  for 
him.    Tell   him    that    I    do  not  want  his 


hi 
hi 
tc 

P 

St 

in 
tl 

S] 

ft 

as 
u] 

hi 

bi 
se 

P] 

ct 
Y 
th 


SLDA 

a,"  she  said,  as  she 
ady  Phillida.  "Will 
Tell  him  what  I  have 
m  that  any  further 
ider  the  circumstances 
liim  and  impossible  to 
fatal  step,  dnd  I  must 

r  me  to  see  him,"  said 
an  do  so  at  any  rate, 
;  becomes  necessary." 
)  away  and,  as  she  did 
s.   up  the  card  which 
id  down.    For  the  first 
the  change  of  title. 
Lord  Glenorchie,"  she 
ticed  it?" 
Phillida,  "It  is  delicate 

nine,"  Griselda  cried, 
ous,  to  try  to  take  from 
possession  of  and  what 
I  should  never  have 
;  driven  me  into  it.  But 
ow.  See  him  and  tell 
hat  after  his  fear  and 
;  I  no  longer  care  for 
at    I    do  not  want  his 


GRISELDA 


l6i 


money  or  his  lands  and  that  I  only  contest 
his  title  for  my  mother's  sake.  Is  it  not  too 
hideous,"  she  cried  with  a  sudden  change  of 
tone,  "that  I,  a  girl,  should  be  placed  in  this 
position?  And  yet  I  must  go  on  with  the 
struggle  to  the  bitter  end." 

Lady  Phillida  said  nothing.  She  was  not 
in  sympathy  with  Griselda's  new  situation, 
though  she  was  loyal  to  the  girl  herself. 
She  thought  her  claim  to  the  Lomond 
earldom  chimerical,  likely  to  end  in  con- 
fusion  and  disaster. 

When  Griselda  had  gone.  Lord  Glenorchie, 
as  he  had  decided  to  call  himself,  was  shown 
up.     He  had  come  straight  from  Ascot. 

Lady  Phillida  went  forward  and  took  his 
hand. 

"Excuse  me,"  she  said,  "for  being  here, 
but  Griselda  asked  me  to  see  you.  She  her- 
self felt  unequal  to  doing  so." 

He  looked  haggard  and  tired,  and  Lady 
Phillida  felt  sorry  for  him. 

"Sit  down,"  she  went  on,  "and  have  a 
cup  of  tea  with  me. ,  It  will  do  you  good. 
You  don't  look  as  though  you  had  eaten  any- 
thing to-day. " 

"I  have  not,"  he  said,  as  he  took  the  seat 
Griselda  had  left.       "Thank  you.     I  will 


-jGJflMuMHW- 


I  s^:: 


,6a  GRISELDA 

take  some  tea.  That  is  Griselda's  empty 
cup,  isn't  it?  She  has  just  gone  upstairs. 
Why  wouldn't  she  see  me?" 

"She  isn't  well  enough,"  Lady  Phillida 
said  as  she  passed  him  his  cup.  "She  did 
not  sleep  last  night,  and  to-ddy  she  is  very 

nervous." 

"I  am  nervous  too,"  he  said,  swallowmg 
his  tea  hastily.  "Good  heavens,  what  a 
mess  we  are  in!  How  are  we  ever  to  get 
out  of  it?  What  does  Griselda  mean?  What 
is  she  going  to  do?" 

"If  you  want  me  to  speak  candidly,  1 
think  she  is  going  to  push  her  case  and  try 
to  take  your  earldom." 

"She  can  have  it,"  he  cried,  impatiently. 
"I  shall  not  defend  it.     I  never  thought  it 
impossible  that  an  heir  to  Kenneth  Tulloch 
should  turn  up,  though  I  didn't  expect  the 
news  to  come  like  this." 
"What  are  you  going  to  do  then?" 
"Do?    What  can  I  do?     I  can  only  let 
Griselda    and    that   adventurer    Grayburn 
bring  their  case  before    the    lords.    I    sit 
among  them  only  in  my  barony.     I  have 
not  yet  made  any  petition  for  the  Scotch 
earldom  even  though  I  have  assumed  the 
title.     The  estates  have  simply    been   put 


into 

tors. 

"1 

V 

to  V 

us    1 

Gris 

Itw 

I  wi 

soon 

any 

The 

for  1 

look 

"J 
you. 
nigh 
atta( 
her  ' 

"} 
whai 
mot] 

"( 
that, 

told 

"] 

abot 


DA 

i  Griselda's  empty 
iust  gone  upstairs. 

rh,"  Lady  Phillida 
his  cup.  "She  did 
I  to-day  she  is  very 

lie  said,  swallowing 

heavens,    what    a 

are  we  ever  to  get 

iseldamean?    What 

speak  candidly,    I 
ash  her  case  and  try 

;  cried,  impatiently. 

I  never  thought  it 
to  Kenneth  Tulloch 

I  didn't  expect  the 

I 

to  do  then?" 
lo?  I  can  only  let 
venturer  Grayburn 
e  the  lords.  I  sit 
ny  barony.  I  have 
ition  for  the  Scotch 
I  have  assumed  the 
re  simply   been   put 


■ '  *»•'■ 


GRISELDA 


163 


into  my  hands  by  the  late  earl's  execu- 
tors." 

"What  does  your  mother  think?" 

"She  thinks  as  I  do,  that  our  only  plan  is 
to  relinquish  everything  that  has  come  to 
us  through  the  Lomond  interest  until 
Griselda  has  formally  put  forth  her  claim. 
It  will  be  humiliating  but  it  must  be  done. 
I  was  wrong  to  have  assumed  the  title  so 
soon,  and  without  more  investigation.  In 
any  case  I  don' t  want  it.  I  am  sick  of  it. 
The  only  thing  I  care  for  is  to  have  Griselda 
for  my  wife,  and  now  I  suppose  she  won't 
look  at  me." 

"She  certainly  says  she  will  not  marry 
you.  She  thinks  that  you  deserted  her  last 
night,  that  you  should  not  have  listened  to 
attacks  upon  her  name  without  springing  to 
her  defence." 

"Will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  me 
what  I  was  to  do?  I  couldn't  strike  my 
mother  dumb." 

"Griselda  herself  in  the  end  accomplished 
that." 

"Yes.  It  was  her  powder  and  shot  that 
told  at  last." 

"How  did  your  mother  learn  so  much 
about  her?    I  certainly  didn't  know  the  two 


,.iM|ll(liMtl»W'W'     |N 


i64 


GRISELDA 


lit 


w 


'I 


or  three  exciting  facts  relative  to  Griselda's 
origin  with  which  we  were  entertained  last 

"Upon  my  life  I  don't  know.  I  have 
asked  her  but  she  refuses  to  tell.  I  can't 
help  suspecting  that  that  cad  Graybum  has 
had  some  hand  in  it." 

"Excuse  me,  Nigel,"  Lady  Phillida  said, 
coloring  slightly  and  beginning  to  move 
aimlessly  the  cups  on  the  table,  "but  I  don't 
think  you  should  call  Mr.  Graybum  a  cad, 
nor  even  an  adventurer  as  you  did  a  moment 
ago.  He  is  not  only  a  gentleman  by  birth 
but  a  most  able  and  interesting  man.  It  is 
in  fact  his  connection  with  this  case  which 
alone  makes  me  feel  that  there  may  be 
something  more  to  Griselda's  claim,  than  at 
first  one  might  suppose. " 

♦•I  will  call  him  anything  you  please,  he 
cried,  getting  up  and  striding  across  the 
room,  "if  you  will  only  let  me  see  Griselda. 
Why  did  she  run  away?  She  must  know 
that  we  can't  end  the  matter  like  this. 
There  is  much  that  we  must  talk  about  and 
explain.  She  must  see  me.  Go  to  her, 
please.  Lady  Phillida,  and  ask  her  to  come 
down,  if  only  for  ten  minutes,  if  only  for 
five,  if  only  for  one,  just  that  I  may  see  her, 


just  1 
out  c 
goto 

••\ 

smili 
I  cai 
haps 
will] 

Wl 
eyes 
open 
softl 

"G 
cried 
he  w 

"I 
"Sta 
have 
you  ] 
go  a' 

Sli 
was 
Glen 
so  lo 

"1 
tosa 
we  1 
pron 


wm  -^"smmi^- 


DA 

lative  to  Griselda's 
re  entertained  last 

't  know.  I  have 
es  to  tell.  I  can't 
:  cad  Graybum  has 

Lady  Phillida  said, 
eginning  to  move 
;  table,  "but  I  don't 
T.  Graybum  a  cad, 
is  you  did  a  moment 
gentleman  by  birth 
aresting  man.  It  is 
ith  this  case  which 
that  there  may  be 
slda's  claim,  than  at 

ling  you  please,"  he 
striding  across  the 
let  me  see  Griselda. 
?  She  must  know 
e  matter  like  this. 
must  talk  about  and 
e  me.  Go  to  her, 
jid  ask  her  to  come 
minutes,  if  only  for 
it  that  I  may  see  her, 


GRISELDA 


m 


just  that  I  may  feel  that  she  has  not  dropped 
out  of  my  life  like  a  star  from  the  sky.  Do 
go  to  her." 

"You  poor  boy,"  Lady  Phillida  said, 
smiling  affectionately.  "I  will  go,  though 
I  can't  promise  that  she  will  come.  Per- 
haps she  will  be  wiser  not  to  do  so,  but  I 
will  go  and  ask  her  all  the  same. " 

When  left  alone  Glenorchie  stood  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  door.  Presently  it 
opened  and  Griselda  glided  in,  closing  it 
softly  behind  her. 

"Griselda!  My  darling!"  Glenorchie 
cried,  making  a  quick  movement  as  though 
he  would  take  her  in  his  arms. 

"No,  no,"  she  said,  raising  her  hand. 
"Stay  there.  Do  not  come  near  me.  I 
have  come  only  because  you  sent  for  me.  If 
you  have  anything  to  say  I  will  hear  it  and 
go  away." 

She  kept  her  place  close  by  the  door.  She 
was  dressed  in  black  and  was  very  pale. 
Glenorchie  thought  he  had  never  seen  her 
so  lovely. 

' '  Anything  to  say ! "  he  cried.  ' '  I  have  all 
to  say.  Do  you  not  see,  Griselda,  that  after 
we  have  acknowledged  our  love,  after  the 
promise  you  gave  me  at  dinner  last  night, 


iwaMra-y' 


'pi 

mi 


t'laij 


l^- 


,66  GRISELDA 

after  that  I  gave  you,  do  you  not  see  that 
we  cannot  part  like  this?  It  is  madness. 
It  is  out  of  the  question." 

"We  do  not  part,"  she  said,  "we  have  been 
parted.  We  ought  never  to  have  known 
each  other.  It  is  my  fault.  When  I  first 
knew  who  you  were  I  should  have  let  our 
acquaintance  cease.  I  should  never  have 
gone  to  Ascot.  When  I  saw  that  Lady 
Glenorchie  despised  me  so  I  should  have 
come  away.  But  I  could  not  have  foreseen 
last  night.  You  did  wrong  to  drag  me  like 
that  before  her." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  said,  quickly,  at 
least  I  'know  it  now.  But  I  wanted  to  take 
my  mother  by  surprise.  I  wanted  to  pre- 
sent you  to  her  before  others.  In  private  I 
knew  I  had  no  chance,  but  I  thought  that  in 
public  she  would  yield.  I  counted  on  her 
pride,  on  her  horror  of  anything  uncon- 
ventional or  theatrical.  I  was  mistaken.  I 
confess  it.  But  I,  too,  could  not  have  fore- 
seen the  bombs  that  were  thrown  both  on 
your  side  and  on  hers. " 

"Even  so,  when  you  saw  me  wounded  and 
broken  you  might  have  come  to  my  aid. 
But  you  doubted  me.  Yes,  you  doubted 
me     You  believed  what  you  heard.    You 


assu 

beei 

for 

you 

whic 

cord 

forg 

"( 
beg£ 

"] 
you 
hanc 
I  sh 
defe 
Ikn 
coul( 
and 
us  ■v 
draw 
it  w< 
it  is 
last 
must 

"1 
tion. 

"1 
been 
man 


f       #! 

l^fL^ 


.DA 


GRISELDA 


167 


o  you  not  see  that 
3?     It  is  madness. 

said,  "we  have  been 
er  to  have  known 
ault.  When  I  first 
should  have  let  our 
should  never  have 
I  saw  that  Lady 
!  so  I  should  have 
id  not  have  foreseen 
ong  to  drag  me  like 

said,  quickly,  "at 
Jut  I  wanted  to  take 
>.  I  wanted  to  pre- 
>thers.  In  private  I 
but  I  thought  that  in 
I  counted  on  her 
of  anything  uncon- 
I  was  mistaken.  I 
could  not  have  fore- 
j^ere  thrown  both  on 

saw  me  wounded  and 

ve  come  to  my  aid. 

Yes,  you  doubted 

lat  you  heard.    You 


assumed  that  I  was  guilty.  It  may  have 
been  only  for  a  night,  it  may  have  been  only 
for  a  moment,  but  while  the  doubt  lasted 
you  allowed  me  to  be  scourged  with  words 
which  cut  more  sharply  and  deeply  than 
cords  and  which  neither  of  us  ever  can 
forget." 

"Griselda,     I    never    doubted "     he 

began. 

"Let  me  go  on,"  she  interrupted.  "Had 
you  come  to  my  side,  had  you  taken  my 
hand,  when  your  mother  held  me  up  to  scorn 
I  should  never  have  spoken  in  my  own 
defence.  But  you  did  nothing.  Yes,  yes, 
I  know  you  would  have  stopped  her  if  you 
could,  but  you  none  the  less  left  me  alone, 
and  so  the  fatal  word  which  must  separate 
us  was  spoken.  And  it  cannot  be  with- 
drawn. It  is  too  late.  For  reasons  which 
it  would  only  pain  you  more  to  tell  you  now, 
it  is  too  late.  When  I  said  good-bye  to  you 
last  night  it  was  forever.  Henceforth  you 
must  regard  me  as  an  enemy." 

"There  is  such  a  thing  as  friendly  litiga- 
tion." 

"Not  in  a  case  like  this.  Too  much  has 
been  said;  too  much  has  been  felt.  Too 
many  serious  interests  hang  on  the  issue." 


agdmrn^m^- 


i68 


GRISELDA 


"And  yet,"  he  said,  with   an  impatient 

r-  gesture,  "and  yet,  you  say  you  loved  me." 

"Yes,  Ilovedyou,"  shesaidnnflinchingly. 

"And  love  me  still." 

"No,  I  do  not  admit  that.  I  don't  know 
what  I'feel  for  you.  Everything  is  changed 
since  last  night,  and  we  are  further  apart 
than  if  we  had  never  known  each  other. 

"You  are  incomprehensible,"  he  ex- 
claimed. "Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  to 
please  you,  to  content   you,    to    save  the 

situation?" 

"Nothing.  There  was  a  moment  when 
you  could  have  done  it,  but  it  passed.  Now 
we  must  fight  our  battle  in  public,  and 
abide  by  the  issue  of  the  struggle." 

"And  afterwards?  What  then?  I  shall 
see  you.  We  can  still  be  friends.^  We  can 
stillperhaps  make  all  come  right." 

"No,"  she  said  in  a  faint  voice,  "don't 
count  on  that. " 

"I  will  count  on  it,  Griselda.  We  shall 
see.  Love  is  stronger  than  you  with  your 
cold  reasoning  suspect. " 

"Not  here,"  she  said,  still  more  faintly. 

"Here  more  than  elsewhere,"  he  insisted. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  with  a  visible  effort, 
'perhaps  I  had  better  tell  you  now  what 


n 


h 

n 

tl 


<>. 


T 
si 

ta 

C( 

tl 


LDA 


GRISELDA 


169 


,  with   an  impatient 

say  you  loved  me." 

;he  saidiinflinchingly. 

ff 

that.  I  don't  know 
Everything  is  changed 
ve  are  further  apart 
nown  each  other." 
rehensible,"  he  ex- 
nothing  I  can  do  to 
it   you,    to    save  the 

was  a  moment  when 
:,  but  it  passed.  Now 
battle  in  public,  and 
:he  struggle." 

What  then?  I  shall 
11  be  friends.  We  can 
come  right." 

a  faint  voice,  "don't 

:,  Griselda.     We  shall 

Br  than  you  with  your 

It" 

id,  still  more  faintly. 

Ise where,"  he  insisted. 

1,  with  a  visible  effort, 

er  tell  you  now  what 


you  must  in  any  case  learn  later.  I  meant 
to  have  .iept  it  from  you  to  save  you  from 
further  pain ;  but  we  shall  understand  each 
other  better  if  you  know  at  once.  I  have 
already  promised  to  marry  some  one  else." 

'Oh,  Griselda,"  he  cried  in  the  tone  of  a 
man  who  has  been  stabbed. 

"Yes,"  she  went  on  cruelly;  "I  am  to 
marry  Mr.  Graybum." 

"but  why?  Why?  Couldn't  you  have 
waited?" 

He  came  nearer  as  he  spoke,  his  face  drawn 
with  pain. 

"No,  I  could  not  wait.  It  is  he  who 
holds  the  proofs  which  alone  can  clear  my 
mother's  honor." 

"And  you  have  sold  yourself  to  gain 
them?" 

"Yes. 

"And  to  avenge  yourself  on  my  mother?" 

"And  on  you." 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 
Then  with  his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  her,  he 
slowly  took  his  hat  and  gloves  from  the 
table  where  they  lay,  and  bowing  to  her 
coldly,  left  the  room. 

She  listened  to  his  footsteps  descending 
the  stairs.     She  heard  them  resound  on  the 


\  r 


170 


GRISELDA 

tiled  floor  of  the  hall  below.    S^«  ^^^^^.J^j^^     ' 
hand  on  the  latch.    Then  she  rushed  after 

^'"Nigel.  Nigel,"   she   called  desperately. 
"Nigel,  come  back,  come  back." 


PAl 


But  he  was  gone.  rri««lda 

When   Lady  PhUUda   returned,  Gnselda 
was  lying  senseless  on  the  floor.         •     ' 


I 


DA 

w.    She  heard  his 
I  she  rushed  after 

ailed  desperately, 
back." 

returned,  Griselda 
e  floor.  I 


PART  II 


.  It 


m 

Six  months  later,  on  a  bright  February 
morning,  G-iselda,  dressed  in  a  loose,  lace- 
like, white  norning  robe,  was  seated  before 
a  blazing    ire  in  her  little  sitting  room  up 
stairs,     h  ^r  breakfast  stood  untasted  on  the 
table,  while  she  herself,  pale  and  pensive, 
sat   with   eyes   fixed   upon    the    crackling 
flames.     On  the  hearthrug  lay  a  torn  envel- 
ope   bearing    the    inscription,    ''On    Her 
Majesty's  Service;'  and   addressed  to  "TA^ 
Right  Honorable,  the  Countess  of  Lomond." 
In    Griselda's   lap    was   a  large,  unfolded 
paper,  of  legal  aspect,  which  she  had  just 
received  and  opened.      It  was   the  official 
intimation  that  her  cause  was  won. 

It  was  not  precisely  a  surprise;  for  she 
had  been  informed  already  that  the  Com- 
mittee for  Privileges  of  the  House  of  Lords 
had  passed  a  resolution  to  the  effect  that 
•'Griselda  TuUoch  had  made  out  her  claim 
to  the  honor  and  dignity  of  Countess  of 
Lomond  in  the  Peerage  of  Scotland,  and 
that  this  resolution  should  be  reported  tp 
173 


V"" 


174 


GRISELDA 


the  House."  But  the  reception  of  this 
official  document  put  the  seal  upon  certainty. 
It  was  not  a  declaratory  patent^  but  it  had 
the  same  effect. 

Griselda  had  thus  obtained  her  object.  She 
had  cleared  her  name ;  she  had  proved  her 
mother's  honor;  she  had  avenged  herself 
on  the  house  of  Graham. 

It  had  been  very  easy ;  there  had  been  no 
struggle  after  all.  Some  doubt  had  been 
expressed  at  first,  and  a  little  ridicule  had 
been  thrown  by  the  press  on  her  pretensions ; 
but  Graybum  had  so  prepared  her  case  that 
it  was  only  necessary  for  the  proofs  to  be 
presented.  The  Glenorchies  had  withdrawn 
altogether  from  the  contest.  Within  forty- 
eight  hours  after  Griselda's  departure  from 
Ascot,  Lady  Glenorchie  had  retired  to  her 
dower-house  in  Kent.  Within  a  week  all 
trace  of  her  residence  at  Lomond  Lodge 
had  been  removed,  and  the  place  where  Le 
bel  Ecossais  had  hung  was  significantly 
empty.  Lady  Glenorchie  would  not  remain 
where  her  right  to  rule  was  questioned. 
Neither  would  she  fight,  nor  allow  her  son 
to  fight.  For  her  such  a  course  would  lack 
dignity  and  pride. 

"A  Graham  of  Glenorchie,"  she  told  her 


son, 
He  1 

for  ] 

nam< 

come 

they 

pers< 

Let 

let  Y 

neitl 

be  h( 

she  ^ 

Ai 
thou 
ceas( 
to  be 
and 
the  ] 
whic 
Lorn 
were 
inter 
coun 

In 
pleas 
he  w 
her. 
raotl 


j^j:^ 


<^ 


)A 

eception  of  this 
3.1  upon  certainty, 
latent,  but  it  had 

td  her  object.  She 

J  had  proved  her 

avenged  herself 

:here  had  been  no 
doubt  had  been 
ittle  ridicule  had 
1  her  pretensions ; 
ired  her  case  that 
the  proofs  to  be 
es  had  withdrawn 
it.  Within  forty- 
s  departure  from 
ad  retired  to  her 
''ithin  a  week  all 
;  Lomond  Lodge 
e  place  where  Le 
was  significantly 
would  not  remain 
was  questioned, 
lor  allow  her  son 
course  would  lack 

lie,"  she  told  her 


GRISELDA 


175 


son,  "does  not  strive  for  things  like  this. 
He  fights  for  honor,  but  not  for  honors — 
for  his  queen,  or  his  country,  or  his  own 
name,  but  not  for  titles  and  estates.  They 
come  to  him  by  self-evident  birth-right,  or 
they  do  not  come  at  all.  Let  this  young 
person  put  forth  her  extraordinary  claim. 
Let  her  prove  it  if  she  can.  In  that  case 
let  her  take  all  that  belongs  to  her.  We 
neither  need  nor  desire  anything  that  can 
be  hers.  When  she  fails,  as  I  am  convinced 
she  will,  our  rights  will  be  incontestible. " 

And  Glenorchie  agreed  with  his  mother, 
though  not  wholly  on  her  grounds.  He 
ceased  to  call  himself  Earl  of  Lomond,  and 
to  bear  the  Tulloch  arms.  Lomond  Lodge 
and  House  of  Tulloch  were  handed  back  to 
the  late  earl's  executors,  and  all  moneys 
which  had  been  paid  to  him  from  the 
Lomond  estates  were  restored.  His  lawyers 
were  instructed  to  watch  the  case  in  his 
interest  as  next-of-kin,  but  to  present  no 
counter-petition. 

In  all  this  the  young  man  felt  a  bitter 
pleasure.  Griselda  had  been  unjust  to  him ; 
he  would  prove  that  he  could  be  generous  to 
her.  Her  object  had  been  to  humiliate  his 
mother  and  him,  but  he  would  show  how 


1 


176 


GRISELDA 


cheaply  they  held  a  title  by  letting  her  take 
it  if  she  could.  Griselda  should  understand 
from  the  outset  that  he  would  grant  eviery- 
thing  which  she  could  reasonably  claim,  and 
that  however  much  she  might  desire  the 
excitement  of  an  open  conflict  there  sbculd 
be  no  unseemly  struggle  between  him  and 

her. 

And  yet  the  perception  of  this  attitude  on 
Glenorchie's  part  came  but   slowly  to  the 
young    girl's    mind.     During    the    months 
which  intervened  between  the  presentation 
of  her  petition  to  the  Queen,and  the  trial  of 
her  case  at  Westminster,  Griselda  had  lived 
in  a  state  of  nervous  exaltation.     The  scene 
at  Lomond  Lodge  was  always  in  her  mind; 
the  words  then  spoken  gained  in  intensity 
with  the  lapse  of  time.      By  dwelling  on 
them  she  lent  fire  to  their  force,  and  lost 
her  sense  of  fairness.     Her  usual  tranquil 
common-sense  gave  way  to  an  exaggerated 
bitterness.     She  felt  herself  dishonored  and 
despised  by  those  whose  esteem  and  love 
she  would  have  sacrificed  all  to  gain.   Since, 
then,  she  could  not  win  them  she   would 
crush  them ;  since  they  would  not  yield  their 
love  she  would  compel  their  hate.    From 
the  moment   when  Glenorchie  left  her  in 


silei 
exp: 
sine 
fane 
mer 
him 

A 
the 
ang 
she 
she 
ory 
him 
her 
If  s 
on  1 
she 
act- 
giv 
the 
deli 
bra 

I 
fac 
Gri 
fur 
fire 
of 


i 


DA 


GRISELDA 


177 


by  letting  her  take 
should  understand 
vould,  grant  eviery- 
.sonably  claim,  and 

might  desire  the 
mflict  there  shculd 

between  him  and 

I  of  this  attitude  on 
but   slowly  to  the 
uring    the    months 
jn  the  presentation 
ieen,and  the  trial  of 
Griselda  had  lived 
Itation.     The  scene 
ilways  in  her  mind; 
gained  in  intensity 
By  dwelling  on 
[leir  force,  and  lost 
Her  usual  tranquil 
(T  to  an  exaggerated 
rself  dishonored  and 
se  esteem  and  love 
i  all  to  gain.   Since, 
in  them  she   would 
(vould  not  yield  their 
[  their  hate.    From 
jnorchie  left  her  in 


silent  indignation,  she  never  forgot  his 
expression  of  reproach.  Into  it  she  had 
since  read  derision  and  disdain.  She 
fancied  him  now  treating  her  without 
mercy.  So  be  it;  she  would  show  none  to 
him. 

As  time  went  on  the  mother  passed  into 
the  background  of  her  thought.  All  her 
anger  was  directed  against  the  son.  Once 
she  had  imagined  that  she  loved  him ;  now 
she  laughed  hysterically  at  the  very  mem- 
ory of  that  grotesque  mistake.  She  loved 
him,  so  she  said,  no  more  than  he  loved 
her.  Her  only  object  was  to  give  him  pain. 
If  she  could  once  know  that  he  had  suffered 
on  her  account  and  by  her  act,— suffered  as 
she  had  suffered  on  his  account  and  by  his 
act— then  she  would  be  content;  she  would 
give  her  hand  to  Graybum  with  a  smile,  as 
the  thirsty  wanderer  who  has  had  one 
delicious  draught  of  water  is  able  to  travel 
bravely  on. 

It  was  not  until  they  again  met  face  to 
face,  before  the  lords  at  Westminster,  that 
Griselda  knew  how  foolish  all  this  fancied 
fury  was.  As  she  sat  now  gazing  at  the 
fire,  her  thoughts  went  back  to  the  incidents 
of  that  morning.    She  had  taken  her  place 


-»► 


178 


GRISELDA 


with  Lady  Phillida  in  the  stately  chamber 
in  the  House  of  Lords,  where  her  case  was 
to  have  its  hearing.  Her  memory  of  details 
was  indistinct.  She  had  been  too  confused 
and  nervous  to  pay  much  heed  to  surround- 
ings and  formalities.  Lady  Phillida  told 
her  that  the  attendance  of  lords  was  large, 
and  she  remembered  counting  seven,  of 
whom  she  recognized  two  or  three.  In 
addition  to  these  were  two  bishops,  and  the 
Lord  Chancellor.  She  herself  felt  like  a 
prisoner  at  the  bar,  rather  than  as  the 
claimant  to  wealth  and  dignity. 

Every  one  who  entered  looked  at  her  with 
curiosity,  and  she  recalled  now  how  she  had 
summoned  all  her  force  of  character  to  her 
aid,  how  she  had  nerved  herself  to  be  brave 
under  the  gaze  of  onlookers.  Then  she  had 
suddenly  raised  her  eyes  and  had  seen 
Nigel  enter— tall,  fair,  scrupulously  well 
dressed,  and  handsomer  than  ever.  He 
stood  for  a  moment  at  the  open  door,  evi- 
dently seeking  her.  Their  eyes  met,  and  he 
bowed,  first  to  her  and  then  to  Lady 
Phillida.  Then  coming  forward  he  seated 
himself  near  his  counsel. 

In  that  instant  of  interchanged  regards  all 
Griselda's  passion  for  revenge  had  disap- 


pea 

him 

be: 

retj 

cep 

sha 

her 

in 

was 

uni 

fee' 

anj 

hei 
fro: 
S 
rep 
wo 
to 
rer 
re\ 
obi 
lov 
firs 
ke< 
pr< 
cir 
no: 


1 


DA 


GRISELDA 


179 


i  stately  chamber 
lere  her  case  was 
memory  of  details 
been  too  confused 
heed  to  surround- 
,ady  Phillida  told 
if  lords  was  large, 
anting  seven,  of 
70    or    three.      In 

0  bishops,  and  the 
berself  felt  like  a 
ither  than  as  the 
gnity. 

looked  at  her  with 

1  now  how  she  had 
of  character  to  her 
herself  to  be  brave 
;rs.  Then  she  had 
es    and    had    seen 

scrupulously  well 
•  than  ever.  He 
the  open  door,  evi- 
ir  eyes  met,  and  he 
nd   then   to    Lady 

forward  he  seated 

changed  regards  all 
evenge  had  disap- 


peared like  a  lifting  mist.  She  had  seen 
him,  and  knew  henceforth  that  there  could 
be  no  more  place  in  her  heart  for  rancor  or 
retaliation.  In  his  face  there  was  a  per- 
ceptible change  which  smote  her  more 
sharply  than  any  pain  she  could  suffer  on 
her  own  account.  He  was  more  grave  than 
in  the  past,  and  a  certain  look  of  youth 
was  gone.  On  his  features  there  was  that 
unmistakable  stamp  which  some  deep 
feeling,  some  great  mental  or  spiritual 
anguish,  inevitably  leaves  behind. 

"And  this  is  my  work,"  Griselda  said  to 
herself.  "I  would  have  died  to  save  him 
from  one  hour's  pain  and  now " 

She  bent  her  head  and  struggled  to 
repress  a  rising  sob.  At  that  moment  she 
would  have  willingly  denied  all  her  claim 
to  the  Lomond  title,  would  gladly  have 
renounced  all  her  cherished  projects  of 
revenge,  would  have  buried  herself  under 
obloquy  and  scorn,  if  only  the  man  she 
loved  could  have  looked  as  when  she  had 
first  known  him,  young  and  glad,  and  in  the 
keen  enjoyment  of  his  life.  But  events  had 
progressed  too  far.  She  was  in  the  grip  of 
circumstance,  and  could  free  neither  herself 
nor  him. 


t>rW«l&«M«T«r*^^>:*<'WlM  „ 


I 

i 


1 80 


GRISELDA 


The  futile  tears  blinded  her;  the  surging 
protests  of  her  lieart  against  the  part  she 
had  played  and  was  playing,  rendered  her 
unconscious  of  \vhat  was  going  on.  She 
had  a  r  mfused  sense  of  a  murmur  of  voices, 
and  of  uninteresting  persons,  parish  clerks 
and  country  lawyers,  called  from  an  adjoin- 
ing   room,    interrogated,    and    sent    back 

again. 

Garter  King  at  Arms  and  Lyon  King  at 
Arms   presei f.  d   pedigrees   and  explained 
certificates  of  1>irths,  baptisms,  marriages, 
and  deaths.     The  Lord  Chancellor  and  the 
Lord  Advocate  of  Scotland  asked  questions 
and  the   heralds   answered    them.      After 
wluit  seemed  to  Griselda  an  unnecessary  dis- 
play  of  eflEort,  considering  the  general  knowl- 
edge of  the  fact,  it  was   established   that 
Kenneth  Stuart   Maximilian  Neil,  twenty- 
ninth  Earl  of  Lomond  was  dead  and  buried, 
having  left  the  field  free  to  his  heirs.     It 
was  also  proved  that  the  said  Earl,  by  his 
marriage  with  the  Lady  Jane  Macpherson 
had  had  one  son,  the  Honorable  Kenneth 
Stuart  Ferdinand  Neil  Tulloch,  commonly 
called    Lord    Inversnaid,    who    had    pre- 
deceased his  father,  having  been  hanged  for 
murder  in  the  State    of    Colorado,  in  the 


K?i"»*!! 


,DA 

jdher;  the  surging 
jainst  the  part  she 
lying-,  rendered  her 
IS  going  on.  She 
I  murmur  of  voices, 
rsons,  parish  clerks 
led  from  an  adjoin- 
1,    and    sent    back 

iand  Lyon  King  at 
rees    and  explained 
iptisms,  marriages. 
Chancellor  and  the 
and  asked  questions 
ered    them.      After 
,  an  unnecessary  dis- 
g  the  general  knowl- 
as   established   that 
lilian  Neil,  twenty- 
iras  dead  and  buried, 
ee  to  his  heirs.     It 
he  said  Earl,  by  his 
y  Jane  Macpherson 
Honorable  Kenneth 
Tulloch,  commonly 
lid,    who    had    pre- 
ing  been  hanged  for 
Df    Colorado,  in  the 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  MS80 

(716)  872-4503 


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Collection  de 
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GRISELDA 


x^ 


United  States  of  America.  It  was  next** 
made  clear  that  the  claimant,  Griselda 
Tulloch,  had  petitioned  the  Queen,  praying 
Her  Majesty  to  be  graciously  pleased  to 
admit  her  succession  i.o  the  honor  and 
dignity  of  Countess  of  Lomond,  in  the 
Peerage  of  Scotland,  as  the  lawful  heir  of 
the  said  Lord  Inversnaid  by  his  marriage 
with  Griselda  Grant.  This  petition  Her 
Majesty  had  referred  to  the  House  of  Lords, 
and  the  House  of  Lords  to  its  Committee 
for  Privileges,  with  instructions  to  safeguard 
the  interests  of  the  Right  Honorable  Nigel, 
Baron  Glenorchie,  of  Glenorchie  Castle  in 
Aberdeenshire,  claiming  to  be  next-of-kin, 
after  the  direct  heirs  of  the  late  twenty- 
ninth  Earl  of  Lomond. 

All  this  had  taken  place  with  a  certain 
perfunctory  decorum  and  ceremonious 
informality.     It    was    like    a    conversation 

I  rather  than  a  trial,  like  a  rehearsal  rather 
than  a  play. 
Then  Griselda's  counsel  made  a  long 
speech  on  her  behalf.  As  she  listened  she 
vaguely  understood  that  a  history  of  the 
Lomond  earldom  was  being  traced  back  to 
the  almost  legendary  period  of  Scottish 
history.    Twice  already  had  the  title  passed 


J. 


^ 


[S3 


griselda 


*  into  the  female  line;  once,  in  the  sixteenth 
century  when  Margaret  7  uUoch,  maid  of 
honor  to  Mary  of  Guise,  had  become  Count- 
ess of  Lomond  in  her  own  right,  and  again 
in  the  seventeenth  century  when  Janetta 
Tulloch  had  succeeded  her  grandfather  the 
anglicizing  lord,  the  friend  of  Charles  I  and 
one  of  the  founders  of  Scottish  Episco- 
palianism. 

The  principle  of  female  tenure  being  thus 
established  Griselda's  advocate  went  onto 
state    that    if    the    twenty-ninth    Earl    of 
Lomond  had  left  any  lawful   descendant, 
male  or  female,  such   descendant  must  be 
regarded  as  heir  to  the  Earldom  as  well  as 
to  the   entailed   estates.      The    barony    of 
Inversnaid,  on  the  contrary,  which  the  late 
earl  had   also  possessed,  could  pass  only  to 
a  male  heir,  and  must  become  extinct  on  the 
accession  of  a  female.      Now  it  would  be 
shown  as  already   stated   that  the  twenty- 
ninth  earl  by  his  marriage  with  Lady  Jane 
Macpherson  had  had    an  only  child,  Lord 
Inversnaid.      It  would  also  be  shown  that 
the  said  Lord  Inversnaid  had  contracted  a 
secret  but  lawful  marriage  with  one  Griselda 
Grant,  a  maid-servant,  of  the  parish  of  Glen 
Tulloch  in  Argyllshire;   and  that  of   this 


elda 

once,  in  the  sixteenth 
iret  7ulloch,  maid  of 
;e,  had  become  Count- 
own  right,  and  again 
century  when  Janetta 
;d  her  grandfather  the 
friend  of  Charles  I  and 
•s  of   Scottish   Episco- 

male  tenure  being  thus 
s  advocate  went  on  to 
twenty-ninth    Earl    of 
ny  lawful   descendant, 
h   descendant  must  be 
the  Earldom  as  well  as 
ites.      The    barony    of 
ontrary,  which  the  late 
3sed,  could  pass  only  to 
it  become  extinct  on  the 
.le.      Now  it  would  be 
tated   that  the  twenty- 
irriage  with  Lady  Jane 
id    an  only  child,  Lord 
ild  also  be  shown  that 
rsnaid  had  contracted  a 
rriage  with  one  Griselda 
at,  of  the  parish  of  Glen 
hire;   and  that  of   this 


GRISELDA 


183 


marriage  there  was  legitimate  issue  in  the 
person  of  Griselda  Tulloch,  here  present, 
claiming  to  be  Countess  of  Lomond. 

Griselda  had  gone  over  all  this  ground  so 
often  that  she  scarcely  listened  to  the  state- 
ment  of  her  case.  Her  attention  was  only 
roused  when  Lady  Phillida  suddenly  grasped 
her  hand  and  said, 

♦•Listen,  The  old  minister  is  going  to 
take  the  stand. " 

It  was  Lady  Phillida  who  had  entered  with 
Graybum  into  all  the  details  of  preparation. 
Griselda  knew  but  vaguely  what  evidence 
was  to  be  given  on  her  behalf.  Now  she 
looked  up  and  saw  a  tall  old  man,  with 
clean  shaven  face  and  long  white  hair, 
come  forward  and  place  himself  in  view  of 
the  assembly.  He  wore  the  ordinary  dress 
of  a  Scotch  Presbyterian  minister  and 
carried  a  large  manuscript  volume. 

"My  name  is  Colin  Campbell,"  he  said, 
after  he  had  been  put  on  oath.  "I  am 
minister  of  the  parish  of  Glen  Tulloch,  and 
a  doctor  of  divinity." 

His  voice  was  clear  but  quavering,  and  he 
spoke  with  the  sharp  Highland  accent,  now 
and  then  inadvertantly  lapsing  into  dialect. 
He  held  his  book  clasped  in   both   hands 


yi 


i84 


GRISELDA 


before  him  as   he   was  used   to   hold   his 
Bible  in  the  pulpit. 

"Will  you  be  good  enough,"  said  the  Lord 
Chancellor,  "to  state  what  you  know  of  the 
facts  in  the  case  now  before  this  Committee?' '^ 

• '  I  well  remember  the  late  Lord  Lomond, 
the  old  man  went  on.  "1  was  tutor  to  his 
son  the  late  Lord  Inversnaid.  When  the 
young  lord  went  to  Harrow  his  old  lordship 
put  me  into  the  parish  of  Glen  Tulloch,  and 
rebuilt  the  manse.  The  earl  was  pleased  to 
honor  me  with  his  friendship,  and  Lord 
Inversnaid  with  his  affection.  All  through 
the  young  man's  earlier  years  I  lived  on 
terms  of  intimacy  with  them  both,  there 
being  no  persons  of  gentility  within  many 

miles." 

Griselda  listened  intently  now.  At  last 
the  veil  was  to  be  lifted;  she  was  to  know 
something  more  than  Grayburn's  few  dry 
and  dreadful  facts,  of  that  father  and  mother 
of  whom  she  had  heard  so  little,  but  had 
dreamt  so  much.  '  ' 

"I  hold  in  my  hand,"  the  minister  con- 
tinued, "my  journal  written  day  by  day 
through  all  those  years,  and  I  know  that  its 
contents  are  true.  I  have  recently  refreshed 
my  memory  as  to  the  events  then  chronicled, 


EL  DA 


as 


used   to   hold    his 


nough,"  said  the  Lord 
what  you  know  of  the 
sfore  this  Committee?" 
le  late  Lord  Lomond, 
t.     "1  was  tutor  to  his 
iversnaid.     When  the 
[arrow  his  old  lordship 
1  of  Glen  TuUoch,  and 
["he  earl  was  pleased  to 
friendship,   and  Lord 
fiEection.      All  through 
rlier  years  I  lived  on 
rith  them  both,   there 
gentility  within  many 

ntently  now.  At  last 
if  ted ;  she  was  to  know 
,n  Grayburn's  few  dry 
'  that  father  and  mother 
leard  so  little,  but  had 

ind,"  the  minister  con- 
.1  written  day  by  day 
irs,  and  I  know  that  its 
have  recently  refreshed 
1  events  then  chronicled, 


GRISELDA 


185 


and  yet  it  was  but  little  necessary,  for  all, 
save  certain  details  of  conversation,  is  as 
clear  to  me  now  as  it  was  then.  You  will 
pardon  me,  I  trust,  my  lords,  if  I  seem 
diffuse,  and  you  will  correct  me,  I  beg,  if  I 
narrate  what  is  unnecessary ;  and  yet  if  I  tell 
the  tale  from  the  beginning  I  cannot  but 
think  that  the  circumstances  will  be  better 
understood. ' ' 

The  old  man  cleared  his  voice,  put  on  his 
gold-rimmed  spectacles,  looked  for  a  moment 
at  certain  pages  of  his  journal  and  began 
again. 

"When  I  became  tutor  to  Lord  Inveranaid 
he  was  but  eight  years  old.  I  was  a  young 
man  fresh  from  the  University,  and  lived 
with  my  pupil  at  House  of  TuUoch.  Lord 
Lomond  himself  resided  in  England,  seeing 
his  son  only  in  the  summer  time.  It  was 
said,  and  I  partly  believe  it,  that  my  lady 
having  died  at  the  young  lord's  birth.  Lord 
Lomond  never  loved  the  child  as  a  father 
should  love  a  son.  Certain  it  is  that  they 
lived  apart,  the  lad  growing  up  with  serv- 
ants and  such  like,  and  with  no  genteel 
companionship  but  mine.  He  was  a  pretty 
boy,  frank  and  affectionate,  but  all  the 
worst  and  wildest  qualities  of  the  headstrong 


•«r 


m 


GRISELDA 


race  of  TuUoch  were  in  his  blood.     From 
his  earliest  childhood  he    inclined    to  the 
precepts  of  neither  law,  gospel,  nor  Shorter 
Catechism.      In  my  charge  of  him  love  and 
correction  were    alike  in  vam.      When  he 
would  do  a  thing,  he  would  do  it;  and  you 
could   neither   win   him  with  caresses  nor 
conquer  him  with  stripes.     He  was  not  pre- 
cisely  bad ;  he  was  simply  lawless.     My  five 
years  of  tutorship  were  spent  as  it  were  in 
fighting  fire;   and  yet  the  lad  was  so  win- 
some that  every  one  but  his  father  loved 

Viim  " 

The  minister  gave  a  little  nervous  cough, 
as  though  to  hide  a  trembling  of  his  voice. 

"I  will  not  weary  your  lordships,"  he  went 
on  again,  "with  any  further  account  of  niy 
pupil's  youth.     Suffice  it  to  say  that  as  he 
began  so  he  continued.    What  was  wildness 
in  boyhood  became  wickedness  in  manhood; 
and  when  at  three  and  twenty  he  returned 
to  take  up  his  residence  at  House  of  Tulloch 
he  had  long  been  seasoned  in  sin.     He  had 
been  expelled  from  Harrow,  expelled  from 
Cambridge,  and  father  and  son  had  so  little 
in  common  that  one  roof  was  not  sufficient 
to  shelter  them.     So  he  returned  to  us  in 
Scotland,  and  I  who  loved  the  man  as  I  had 


lo^ 
ini 
m; 
in: 
nc 
m 
m 
th 
ne 
at 

gc 

m 

su 
M 
in 
in 
D 

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tl 

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tl; 

I 

h( 

si 

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LDA 

n  his  blood.    From 
le    inclined    to  the 

gospel,  nor  Shorter 
irge  of  him  love  and 
in  vain.  When  he 
ould  do  it;  and  you 
n  with  caresses  nor 
es.  He  was  not  pre- 
ply  lawless.  My  five 
5  spent  as  it  were  in 

the  lad  was  so  win- 
but  his  father  loved 

little  nervous  cough, 
mbling  of  his  voice, 
ir  lordships,"  he  went 
'urther  account  of  my 
3  it  to  say  that  as  he 
What  was  wildness 
ckedness  in  manhood; 
id  twenty  he  returned 
:e  at  House  of  Tulloch 
soned  in  sin.     He  had 
tiarrow,  expelled  from 
tr  and  son  had  so  little 
roof  was  not  sufficient 
,  he  returned  to  us  in 
loved  the  man  as  I  had 


GRISELDA 


187 


loved  the  boy  did  what  I  could  to  lead  him 
into  paths  of  virtue.  But  it  was  in  vain, 
my  lords.  Other  companions  had  greater 
influence  than  mine.  Lord  Lomond  came 
no  more  to  Scotland,  and  Inversnaid  was 
master  at  House  of  Tulloch.  Hither  came 
many  young  gentlemen  of  his  own  type  and 
the  description  of  the  life  they  led  would  be 
neither  pleasant  nor  profitable  to  such  lords 
and  ladies  as  I  now  see  before  me.  I  will 
go  on  to  the  more  important  facts.     In  the  | ; 

midst  of  those  wild  and  riotous  days  I  was  j 

surprised  one  evening  to  receive  at  the 
Manse  a  visit  from  Inversnaid.  He  rushed 
in  apon  me  as  I  sat  writing  at  my  desk,  cry- 
ing out  in  an  excited  way:  'Oh,  dear  old 
Dominie,'  for  that  was  the  name  he  usually 
gave  me,  'I  want  you  to  marry  me.'  'Sit 
down,'  I  said  in  a  quiet  voice,  trying  to  calm 
him  by  feigning  to  be   cool   myself.     'To  ^ 

whom?'     'To  Griselda  Grant,   the  maid  at  | 

the  Arms,'  he  said,  meaning,  my  lords  the  4 

Tulloch  Arms,  our  village  inn.  'Do  you 
think  such  a  marriage  wise?'  I  asked.  'No, 
I  do  not,' he  answered,  'but  I  cannot  get 
her  in  any  other  way. '    I  leave  your  lord-  i|ij 

ships  to  imagine  my  state  of  anguish. 
labored  with   the   young    man  till  nearly 


Its 


GRISELDA 


dawn,  but  argument  only  served  to  increase 
his  determination. 

•*  'I  love  her,'  he  repeated  over  and  over 
again,  'and  if  I  cannot  marry  her  with  the 
blessing  of  the  Kirk  I  will  marry  her  Scotch 
fashion,  and  make  that  suffice.  She  will  be 
my  wife  even  so,  and  to  satisfy  the  law  is 
all  I  mind.    I  love  her  and  I  will  have  her. " 

•'  'But  you  loved  Jeannie  Ferguson,  and 
Annie  Campbell,  the  wheelwright's  girl, 
and  Thomas  Carmichael's  daughter,  and 
look  at  them  now,  poor  unfortunate 
creatures,  neither  maids  nor  married 
women.' 

"  'Dominie!'  he  cried  in  a  towering  rage, 
springing  from  his  seat  and  bending  over 
me,  'if  you  mention  her  again  in  connection 
with  that  company  of  wantons  I  will  kill 
you.' 

"Then  I  saw,  my  lords,  that  the  young 
man  had  respect  for  the  lassie,  and  I  dinna 
wonder  at  it  for  I  knew  her  weel." 

In  his  agitation  the  old  man  slipped  into 
the  vernacular,  but  corrected  himself  quickly. 

"All  that,"  he  continued,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  "was  many  years  ago.  But 
neither  time  nor  change  can  dim  the  memory 
of  Griselda  Grant,  in  the  minds  of  those  who 


h£ 

sv 

at 

fc 

a1 

b( 

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a: 

k 

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s' 

t( 

1( 

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e 

i 

s 


LDA 

ly  served  to  increase 

leated  over  and  over 
;  marry  her  with  the 
rill  marry  her  Scotch 
sufi&ce.  She  will  be 
to  satisfy  the  law  is 
ind  I  will  have  her. " 
annie  Ferguson,  and 
wheelwright's  girl, 
ael's  daughter,  and 
poor  unfortunate 
laids     nor     married 

1  in  a  towering  rage. 

It  and  bending  over 

r  again  in  connection 

wantons  I  will  kill 

ords,  that  the  young 
he  lassie,  and  I  dinna 
T  her  weel." 
old  man  slipped  into 
•ected  himself  quickly, 
lued,  after  a  moment's 
ly  years  ago.  But 
;  can  dim  the  memory 
le  minds  of  those  who 


GRISELDA 


189 


have  once  looked  upon  her  face.     She  was 
such  a  maiden  as  appears  from  time  to  time 
among  our  Scottish  peasantry,  where  a  race, 
for  the  most  part  plain  of  feature,  produces 
at  long   intervals    a  type  of  extraordinary 
beauty.     Of  middle  height,  she  was  slender, 
supple,  graceful,    and    strong.      Those  are 
the  words  I  wrote  of  her  in  my  journal,  over 
twenty  years  ago.     Her  dark  eye  was  large 
and  soft,  and  seemed  always  to  appeal  for 
kindness.      Her  hair  was  brown  and  most 
abundant,  her  face  was  small  and  oval,  and 
her  mouth  a  wonder  of  beauty,  whether  in 
repose,  or  in  speaking,  or  when  in  smiling 
she  disclosed   her  small,  white,    pearl-like 
teeth.     I  have  it  all  here  in  my  journal,  my 
lords,  so  that  you  may  know  that  it  is  true. 
If  you  would  see  her  somewhat  as  she  was, 
but  less  lovely,  you  may  look  at  the  young 
lady  there,  who  sits  before  you." 

AH  eyes  were  turned,  with  a  smile, 
towards  Griselda,  who,  heedless  of  remark 
and  regard  alike,  sat  gazing  at  the  old  man's 
earnest  face.  Her  whole  heart  was  absorbed 
in  this  account  of  the  mother  who  thus 
seemed  to  spring  into  life  before  her. 

"Her  mind  was  equal  to  her  person. 
Though  the  child  of  a  simple  shepherd  she 


:  xQUEni^s^Mivf'^kC'  - 


190 


GRISELDA 


had  taught  herself  to  speak  and  write  with 
almost  the  same  punctilious  correctness 
which  is  common  to  the  quality.  She  was 
versed  in  Scripture,  and  trained  in  the  truest 
spirit  of  religion.  In  her  humble  station  at 
the  TuUoch  Arms  she  bore  herself  in  such  a 
way  as  to  win  the  esteem  of  homebred  com- 
panions and  the  passing  public  alike.  I  my- 
self made  many  an  unnecessary  errand  to 
the  inn  simply  that  I  might  take  occasion  to 
converse  with  her,  and  admire  the  works  of 
the  Creator  in  a  form  so  discreet  and  lovely. 
The  effect  this  maid  produced  upon  me  has 
always  been,  my  lords,  of  a  nature  wholly 
beyond  my  comprehension;  but  so  strong 
was  it,  that  when  Lord  Inversnaid  was  set  to 
marry  her  I  was  moved  on  every  ground  to 
circumvent  him. " 

He  paused  again,  and  turning  the  leaves 
of  the  journal,  searched  for  a  particular  page. 

"I  have  here,"  he  continued,  "the  record 
of  the  visit  paid  by  me  on  the  following  day 
to  Griselda  Grant  herself.  I  found  her  in  a 
state  of  great  agitation,  and  as  determined 
in  her  attitude  as  Lord  Inversnaid  in  his. 

"  'I  love  him,'  she  repeated  in  answer  to 
all  my  reasonings,  'and  if  he  will  marry  me 
I  will  marry  him. ' 


SCi 

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sa 
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at 
hi 
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LDA 


GRISELDA 


191 


)eak  and  write  with 
ctilious  correctness 
e  quality.  She  was 
trained  in  the  truest 
er  humble  station  at 
sre  herself  in  such  a 
n  of  homebred  corn- 
public  alike.  I  my- 
necessary  errand  to 
ight  take  occasion  to 
admire  the  works  of 
>  discreet  and  lovely, 
oduced  upon  me  has 
of  a  nature  wholly 
sion;  but  so  strong 
[nversnaid  was  set  to 
i  on  every  ground  to 

I  turning  the  leaves 
for  a  particular  page, 
ntinued,  "the  record 
on  the  following  day 
If.  I  found  her  in  a 
I,  and  as  determined 
Inversnaid  in  his. 
jpeated  in  answer  to 
if  he  will  marry  me 


"  'But,*  I  expostulated,  'think  of  the 
scandal  of  a  marriage  so  far  above  your 
station.' 

'*  'I  know,'  she  made  answer.  'I  have 
thought  of  it,  but  I  cannot  help  myself.  I 
love  him,  sir,  so  well  that  I  am  not  strong 
enough  to  resist  him.  If  only  he  will  marry 
me  I  will  marry  him.  It  is  not  because  he 
is  a  lord ;  it  is  because  I  love  him,  and  if  he 
leaves  me  or  I  leave  him  then  my  heart  will 
break.     I  shall  not  be  able  to  live  longer.' 

"To  this,  my  lords,  we  returned  as  the  end 
of  all  pleadings  and  all  arguments.  At  last 
she  broke  into  a  fit  of  weeping,  and  with  her 
hands  clasped  across  the  table  at  which  we 
sat,  with  the  tears  streaming  from  her  eyes, 
and  her  brown  hair  falling  like  tendrils 
about  her  face  she  besought  me  not  to  send 
him  from  her,  or  to  put  my  influence 
between  them.  So  strongly  did  she  plead, 
and  with  so  much  beauty  of  word  and  feature 
that,  as  I  grieve  to  say,  I  myself  forgot  my 
dignity  and  position  and  cried  out  (I  have 
it  written  in  my  journal)  'Oh,  Griselda,  will 
you  marry  me?'  It  was  a  moment  of  great 
weakness  I  confess,  but  had  any  of  you,  my 
lords,  beheld  her  thus  I  think  that  you 
would  have  been  moved  to  do  no  less.     But 


«9« 


GRISELDA 


the  lassie  was  wiser  than  I.  She  simply 
wept  and  gave  me  no  answer  at  all;  by 
which  I  saw  that  she  would  not  compromise 
my  situation  at  the  manse,  but  would  marry 
him  on  whom  her  heart  was  set. "  , 

The  old  man's  voice  at  this  moment 
quivered  with  an  emotion  which  he  could 
not  control,  but  he  went  on  tremblingly. 

"My  moment  of  folly  was  fatal  to  us  all. 
I  could  no  longer  with  conscience  dissuade 
another  from  what  I  had  been  ready,  if  only 
for  an  instant,  to  undertake  myself.  The 
next  day  in  the  Kirk  of  Glen  Tulloch  I  myself 
blessed  and  solemnized  the  marriage  of 
Lord  Inversnaid  and  Griselda  Grant  before 
God  and  before  witnesses.  Since  then  I 
have  had  no  desire  for  matrimony  for  my- 
self. I  have  only  to  add,  my  lords,  that  if 
there  is  issue  of  this  marriage,  it  is  lawful 
issue  according  to  all  laws  of  God,  and  of 
the  realm  of  Scotland." 

Amid  a  murmur  of  sympathy  he  stopped, 
closed  his  book,  took  off  his  spectacles  and 
wiped  them  on  his  pocket  handkerchief. 
Then  Glenorchie  stepped  forward  and  taking 
the  aged  minister's  arm  led  him  from  the 
room.  Griselda  would  gladly  have  done 
the  same  had  she  dared  to  leave  her  place. 


A 

in 
af 

w 
s] 

k 
n 
g 

P 
tl 
h 

t] 
ii 
n 
1( 
I 
s 
t 
n 
ii 
( 
t 
Y 
I 


_._*-_it-. ,.-»,. 


LDA 

han  I.     She  simply 

0  answer  at  all;  by 
'ould  not  compromise 
ase,  but  would  marry 
;  was  set."  , 

ce  at    this    moment 
tion  which  he  could 
It  on  tremblingly. 
y  was  fatal  to  us  all. 

1  conscience  dissuade 
ad  been  ready,  if  only 
lertake  myself.  The 
Glen  Tulloch  I  myself 
ed  the  marriage  of 
Griselda  Grant  before 
esses.  Since  then  I 
3r  matrimony  for  my- 
add,  my  lords,  that  if 
marriage,  it  is  lawful 

laws  of  God,  and  of 

sympathy  he  stopped, 
off  his  spectacles  and 
pocket  handkerchief. 
)ed  forward  and  taking 
irm  led  him  from  the 
lid  gladly  have  done 
ed  to  leave  her  place. 


GRISELDA 


X93 


As  it  was  she  could  only  consecrate  to  him 
in  silence  all  her  heart's  best  gratitude  and 
affection. 

The  register  of  the  parish  of  Glen  Tulloch 
was  next  put  in  evidence,  and  a  large  burly 
florid   gray-bearded    Scotchman   began    to 

speak. 

"My  name,"  he  said,  "is  Alexander 
Mackenzie.  I  have  been  thirty  years  inn- 
keeper at  the  Tulloch  Arms.  Lord  Invers- 
naid  was  a  frequenter  of  my  house,  where  I 
gave  employment  to  Griselda  Grant.  I  was 
present  with  my  wife  at  their  marriage  in 
the  Kirk  of  Glen  Tulloch,  the  young  lord 
having  first  sworn  us  to  secrecy.  I  swear 
that  this  is  my  signature.  I  swear  that  this 
is  the  signature  of  my  wife  Jessie  Mackenzie, 
now  dead.  I  swear  that  this,  Kenneth  Tul- 
loch, is  the  signature  of  the  late  Lord 
Inversnaid.  I  swear  that  this  is  the 
signature  of  Griselda  Grant.  I  swear  that 
this  is  the  signature  of  Colin  Campbell, 
minister  of  Glen  Tulloch.  I  swear  that  this 
is  the  signature  of  Robert  Grant,  brother  of 
Griselda  Grant.  I  swear  that  I  saw  all 
these  signatures  written  with  their  own 
hands  on  the  date  here  given,  by  the  afore- 
named persons  in  Glen  Tulloch  Kirk. ' ' 


11.- J- -n-f""*  *'■■*"-"     ' 


194 


GRISELDA 


"My  name  is  Robert  Grant,"  said  the 
next  witness,  and  Griselda  could  not  repress 
a  low,  sudden,  exclamation  of  sentiment 
and  emotion.  Lady  Phillida  put  out  her 
hand,  for  the  girl  started  as  though  she 
must  rise  and  go  to  the  man  who  stood 
before  her.  Here  at  last  was  someone  of 
her  own  flesh  and  blood,  her  mother's 
brother,  between  whom  and  herself  there 
was  the  sacred  tie  of  kinship,  the  tie  which 
she  had  never  known. 

He  was  a  slight  man  of  about  fifty,  not 
tall,  but  evidently  agile.  His  clean-shaven 
face  was  regular  in  feature,  and  Griselda 
fancied  that  in  it  she  could  see  a  distinct 
resemblance  to  her  own.  The  eyes  were 
dark  and  soft  as  the  old  minister  had  de- 
scribed those  of  the  first  Griselda;  their 
expression  was  dreamy  and  distant  like 
that  of  a  man  who  lives  in  the  unseen.  He 
was  neat  and  clean,  and  in  his  Sunday 
clothes  had  a  certain  air  of  home-bred, 
peasant-like  distinction. 

•'I  am  a  shepherd,"  he  continued,  "and 
live  the  noo  on  the  hills  of  Morven. 
Griselda  Grant  was  my  ain  sister.  When 
she  went  to  live  at  the  TuUoch  Arms,  I  coun- 
seled her  against  the  attentions  of  ungodly 


ELD  A 


GRISELDA 


»95 


lert  Grant,"  said  the 

elda  could  not  repress 

.mation   of   sentiment 

Phillida  put  out  her 

tarted  as  though  she 

the  man  who  stood 

last  was  someone  of 

blood,   her   mother's 

)m  and  herself  there 

kinship,  the  tie  which 

an  of  about  fifty,  not 
lie.  His  clean-shaven 
feature,  and  Griselda 
J  could  see  a  distinct 
own.  The  eyes  were 
old  minister  had  de- 
first  Griselda;  their 
my  and  distant  like 
es  in  the  unseen.  He 
,  and  in  his  Sunday 
in  air  of  home-bred, 
n. 

,"  he  continued,  "and 
he  hills  of  Morven. 
my  ain  sister.  When 
1  TuUoch  Arms,  I  coun- 
!  attentions  of  ungodly 


gentlemen,  of  which  as  I  knew  verra  weel 
there  were  mony  at  the  House  of  TuUoch. 
Having  neither  f eyther  nor  mither  there  was 
only  me  to  warn  her,  and  help  her  shun  the 
path  that  leadeth  to  perdition.     She  was  a 
braw  lassie    and   well-dowered    with    that 
female  beauty  which  the  gude  Lord  sends 
here  and  there  as  a  trial  and  a  snare  to  men. 
Well,  my  lords  and  ladies,  she  was  no  verra 
long    at    the    Tulloch   Arms    before   word 
was  sent  me  that  wild  Inversnaid  was  daft 
aboot    her.      I   was  then  on  Glenconnell's 
estate,  in  the  further  comer  of  Argyll,  but  I 
left  all  and  went  to  find  my  erring  sister. 
'Grizzel,'   I  said  to  her, 'the  day  ye  become 
that    young  man's  victim  will   be  his  last 
on  airth.     If  ye  have  any  affection  for  him, 
flee  from  his  embrace,  for  he  shall  pay  the 
penalty  of  his  crime  in  blood.'     'Have  no 
fear,  Robert,'  she  replied  to  me,  'for  I  shall 
never    yield     to    him,    except    in    honest 
marriage.'      'There     can     be     no     honest 
marriage  between  one  of  your  degree  and 
one  of  his,*  I  said  to  her;  whereat  she  fell  to 
crying,  and  I  left  her.     My  lords  and  ladies, 
I  had  scarce  returned  to  Glenconnell  when 
from  the  same  source  as  before — a  lassie  at 
the  Arms  whose  feyther  was  fellow-shepherd 


196 


GRISELDA 


with  me— I  heard  talk  of  a  marriage  be- 
tween my  sister  and  Inversnaid.      Back  I 
huraied    to    Glen  TuUoch,   not    without  a 
weapon,   swearing  that    the   shame  of    no 
such  marrrage  should  be  on  the  head  of  my 
feyther's   child.     It  was  night-fall  when  1 
reached  the  Arms,  and  learned  that  not  an 
hour  before  my  sister  had  left  the  inn,  in 
company     with     Sandy     Mackenzie,     her 
master,  and  his  wife,  all  three  taking  the 
road  to  the  Kirk.     I  followed  and  entered— 
only  to  find  my  sister  and  Inversnaid  already 
in  the  act  of  the  betrothal.     My  lords  and 
ladies,  if  it  hadna  been  in  the  house  of  God 
I    would   ha'  shot  the  one  and  the  other 
there  and  then.      But  I  couldna   commit 
sacrilege  as  well  as  crime ;  and  when  a*  was 
over  the  minister  turned  to  me  and  said, 
•Robert    Grant,  what  .  is   done    canna   be 
undone.     Give  me  yon  weapon,  and  bear 
your  troubles  like  a  man.     Remember  that 
it  might  ha'  been  far  worse,  for  noo  the 
lassie  is  at  least  a  married  woman.     Come 
into  the  vestry  and  sign  to  what  you  have 
seen.'     My  lords  and  ladies  I  followed  the 
counsel  of  the  holy  man,  and  put  aside  my 
thoughts  of  vengeance.     When  I  had  signed 
I  shook  my  sister  by  the  hand,  and  left  her 


w 

a: 
o; 
n 
n 
>« 

e 

t( 

F 
ii 
s 
t 

t 
t 
t 
( 
c 
\ 
( 


-i 


SLDA 

Ik  of  a  marriage  be- 
Inversnaid.      Back  I 
Uoch,   not    without  a 
at    the   shame  of    no 
be  on  the  head  of  my 
^ras  night-fall  when  1 
id  learned  that  not  an 
r  had  left  the  inn,  in 
idy     Mackenzie,     her 
,  all  three  taking  the 
oUowed  and  entered — 
and  Inversnaid  already 
rothal.     My  lords  and 
;n  in  the  house  of  God 
tie  one  and  the  other 
ut  I  couldna   commit 
4me ;  and  when  a*  was 
rned  to  me  and  said, 
t  .  is   done    canna   be 
^on  weapon,  and  bear 
man.     Remember  that 
ar  worse,  for  noo  the 
larried  woman.     Come 
ign  to  what  you  have 
I  ladies  I  followed  the 
nan,  and  put  aside  my 
:e.     When  I  had  signed 
the  hand,  and  left  her 


GRISELDA 


197 


with  him  whom  she  had  chosen  for  better 
and  for  worse.  I  couldna  forgive  her  all  at 
once,  but  I  trust  I  ha'  done  so  since.  I 
never  saw  her  any  more.  I  swear  that  this  is 
my  signature.  I  swear  that  the  marriage 
was  a  lawful  one." 

He  stopped  abruptly  and  then,  looking 
round  the  hall  with  great,  slow,  dreamy 
eyes,  gazed  for  a  moment  at  Griselda.  She 
too  looked  at  him,  unable  to  do  more, 
powerless  to  give  him  any  sign  of  her 
interest  and  emotion.  Then,  with  his 
shambling  shepherd's  gait,  he  left  the  room 
by  the  door  through  which  he  had  come. 

The  current  of  Griselda's  thought  was 
however  quickly  changed,  for  a  distinct 
heightening  of  expectation  was  perceptible 
throughout  the  room  when,  a  moment  later, 
Graybum  himself  took  the  stand.  His  air 
of  the  mature  and  experienced  man  of  the 
world,  at  once  dignified  and  deferential, 
carried  with  it  a  certain  conviction  in 
advance  of  what  he  had  to  say.  The 
spectator  had  an  involuntary  feeling  that 
the  cause  of  which  he  was  the  champion 
must  be  right.  Lady  Phillida  hastily 
pressed  Griselda's  hand,  and  then  fixed  her 
eyes  upon  the  speaker. 


198 


GRISELDA 


In  a  deep,  melodious  voice,  with  very 
distinct  enunciation  Grayburn  told  of  his 
early  friendship  with  Inversnaid,  and  con- 
firmed all  that  had  been  said  by  the  minister 
of  Glen  Tulloch.  Over  this  he  passed 
rapidly,  and  came  to  a  date  just  subsequent 
to  his  friend's  asserted  marriage.  Here  he 
asked  permission  to  read  a  short  letter 
which  he  had  received  in  London. 

"  'Dear  Gray'  "  it  ran,  "  'I  am  in  a  devil  of 
a  mess.     I  am  married.     You  can  guess  to 
whom.     The  pater  has  thrown  me  over- 
disowned  me  in  fact.    Perhaps  I  don't  blame 
him     I  shouM  not  care  so  much  if  it  were 
not  for  Griselda's  sake.     Poor  girl,  she  is 
heart-broken.     Don't  say  anything  about  all 
this,    for  as  yet  it  is  known  to  very  few. 
Can't  you  come  to  me,   and    bring   some 
money  with  you?     I  don't  know  which  way 
to  turn,  or  what  to  do.     We  are  at  King 
James's  Lodge  up   the  bum  behind  Glen 
Ellen,  as  hints  were  given  from  headquarters 
that  we  had  better  leave  House  of  Tulloch. 
Come  to  us  for  God's  sake,  and  give  us  an 
idea  as  to  what  to  do. 

••  'Your  old  friend, 

•••Inversnaid.'  " 

This,  Grayburn  went  on  to  say,  was 
but  one  of  many  letters  which  he  held  in 
his  hand,  the  authenticity  of  which  could 


5LDA 

ous  voice,  with  very 
Grayburn  told  of  his 

Inversnaid,  and  con- 
sn  said  by  the  minister 
Dver  this  he  passed 
I  date  just  subsequent 
sd  marriage.     Here  he 

read  a  short  letter 
I  in  London. 


"  'I  am  in  a  devil  of 
You  can  guess  to 


in, 
ed 
as  thrown  me  over — 

Perhaps  I  don't  blame 
:are  so  much  if  it  were 
,ke.     Poor  girl,  she  is 

say  anything  about  all 
s  known  to  very  few. 
me,  and  bring  some 
don't  know  which  way 

do.  We  are  at  King 
the  bum  behind  Glen 
iven  from  headquarters 
;ave  House  of  TuUoch. 
s  sake,  and  give  us  an 

our  old  friend, 

•'♦Inversnaid.'" 

went  on  to  say,  was 
tters  which  he  held  in 
snticity  of  which  could 


GRISELDA 


199 


easily  be  proved.  In  all  of  them  the  fact  of 
the  marriage  was  either  mentioned  or 
assumed.  He  then  told  of  his  visit  to  King 
James's  Lodge,  where  the  result  of  their 
conferences  was  the  decision  that  all  three 
should  try  their  fortunes  in  America. 

Inversnaid  had  a  little  money  from  his 
mother,  an  inheritance  which  had  since 
passed  to  his  child,  and  become  the  founda- 
tion of  her  fortune.  Grayburn,  estranged 
from  his  own  family,  had  even  less,  but 
enough  for  present  need.  They  went  to 
New  York  and  then  drifted  towards  the 
West.  They  finally  reached  the  newly- 
founded  mining  town  of  Lost  Man  Creek, 
known  to-day  as  Millersville.  Inversnaid  and 
his  wife  traveled  first  under  the  name  of 
TuUoch,  but,  owing  to  an  unpleasant 
occurrence  in  New  York,  where  he  had 
been  recognized  and  she  subjected  to  insult- 
ing remark,  they  took,  in  going  west  the 
name  of  Grant. 

At  Lost  Man  Creek  they  decided  to  settle 
and  try  to  retrieve  their  fortunes.  The 
town  had  passed  the  first  stages  of  the 
mining-camp,  and  was  endeavoring  to 
reduce  itself  into  a  rude  state  of  law  and 
order.     Inversnaid  made  an  effort  to  work 


r 
5 1> 


I 


% 


.1 


300 


GRISELDA 


and  to  rearrange  his  life;  Grayburn  saw 
before  them  a  possibility  of  success;  and 
the  young  wife  expecting  to  become  a 
mother    was    for    the    first    time    almost 

happy. 

Then  suddenly  their  trouble  came  upon 
them.     The   man   who   in  New  York  had 
recognized    Inversnaid    appeared    in  Lost 
Man  Creek.     He  was  a  disgraced  English 
gentleman  who  had  been  sent  to  America 
to  begin  his  life  again.     At  first  he  only 
made    himself     objectionable,     and    they 
avoided  him.    Then  he  renewed  his  insolent 
attentions  to  Griselda.     One  day  Inversnaid 
returning  home  found  his  wife  prostrated 
and  in  tears.     She  told  how  the  English- 
man had  again  insulted  her,  and  Inversnaid 
had  sworn  that  this  time  should  be  the  last. 
The  stranger  fled  towards  a  mining  camp, 
far  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains.     Invers- 
naid  followed  him.     He  was  absent  three 
days.    When  he  returned  he  was  strangely 
calm  and  silent.     His  arrest  took  place  in 
the  following  week,  and  at  the  trial  he  was 
condemned   to    death.     Every    effort   was 
made    to   secure    a   pardon,    or  at  least  a 
reprieve,  but  without  avail.     The  governor 
of  the  State  was  determined  that  the  day 


LDA 


GRISELDA 


aoi 


life;   Grayburn  saw 

lity  of  success;    and 

jcting    to   become  a 

first    time    almost 

r  trouble  came  upon 

0  in  New  York  had 

1  appeared    in  Lost 
a  disgraced  English 

•een  sent  to  America 
in.     At  first  he  only 
:tionable,     and    they 
e  renewed  his  insolent 
One  day  Inversnaid 
i  his  wife  prostrated 
old  how  the  English- 
jd  her,  and  Inversnaid 
me  should  be  the  last, 
vards  a  mining  camp, 
e  mountains.     Invers- 
He  was  absent  three 
irned  he  was  strangely 
;s  arrest  took  place  in 
and  at  the  trial  he  was 
1.     Every    effort   was 
pardon,    or  at  least  a 
t  avail.     The  governor 
termined  that  the  day 


for  private  judgment  and  revenge  must 
cease.  The  man  called  "Grant  had  hunted 
his  victim  and  tracked  him  down.  It  was 
but  one  of  many  such  lawless  acts  which 
had  lately  taken  place,  and  an  example 
must  be  made. 

"I  will  not  dwell,  my  lords,  on  those  sad 
days,"  Grayburn  went  on.  "I  will  speak 
only  of  what  it  is  necessary  should  be 
shown.  On  the  eve  of  my  poor  friend's 
death  I  was  allowed  to  visit  him  in  the 
prison.  There  I  received  his  last  wishes  and 
directions.  I  found  him  calm,  resigned, 
and  in  a  certain  sense  penitent.  That  is, 
he  regretted  his  life  from  the  very  first. 
'It  was  all  wrong,'  he  said,  'and  could  only 
finish  in  this  way,  I  am  not  sorry  that  it 
should  be  over.  I  have  been  a  miserable, 
unhappy  creature.  Gray,  through  all  my 
daring  and  bravado.  I  shall  be  glad  to  be 
under  the  sod.  My  only  regret  is  that  a 
TuUoch  should  come  to  his  end  like  this.' 
Then  he  said  to  me — and,  my  lords,  you  can 
understand  that  every  word  spoken  at  such 
a  moment  has  remained  in  my  memory  as 
though  printed  in  letters  of  fire — he  said 
to  me,  taking  my  hand:  'We  have  been 
dear  friends.  Gray,  if  not    precisely  wise 


i 


it] 

f 


303 


GRISELDA 


^! 


i 


ones.     I  have  nothing  to  leave  you  but  the 
care  of  Griselda    and    the    child  when  it 
comes.    Here  is  my  will.     The  little  fortune 
which  came  to  me  from  my  mother  I  leave 
to  my  wife  and  after  her  to  the  baby.     The 
wording  of  the  will  is  evidence  in  itself  that 
I  acknowledge  them  both  as  mine  by  blood 
and  law  alike.     See  that  the  testament  is 
carried  out.      Do  what  you  can  with  my 
father.     He    may    soften    a    bit  when  he 
knows  that  I  am  gone.     I  won't  give  you 
any  more  directions.     I  know  you  will  act 
for  the  best.     I  ask  you  only  as  my  dying 
wish  to  see  that  my  wife  and  child  are  put 
into    the    place    which    belongs  to  them.' 
Then,  my  lords,  the  warder  came  and  I  had 
to  go.     Inversnaid  threw  himself  into  my 
arms  and  kissed  me  many  times,  as  though 
we  had  been  two  children.     When  at  the 
door  I  looked  back  at  him  he  stood  smiling 
to  the  last;  but  before  the  key  turned  in  the 
lock  behind  me  I  heard  his  despairing  and 
heart-breaking  sobs." 

There  were  other  sobs  at  that  moment,  for 
Lady  Phillida  was  weeping,  and  throughout 
the  hall  there  was  a  sympathetic  sense  of 
sorrow  for  the  ruined  life  which  might  have 
been  so  fair.     Grayburn  himself,  upheld  by 


lt^Aitift*-J5t'»M- ' 


ILDA 

to  leave  you  but  the 
the    child  when  it 
11.     The  little  fortune 
n  my  mother  I  leave 
er  to  the  baby.     The 
evidence  in  itself  that 
oth  as  mine  by  blood 
hat  the  testament  is 
it  you  can  with  my 
"ten    a    bit  when  he 
e.     I  won't  give  you 
I  know  you  will  act 
/on  only  as  my  dying 
wife  and  child  are  put 
h    belongs  to  them.' 
arder  came  and  I  had 
rew  himself  into  my 
nany  times,  as  though 
ildren.     When  at  the 
;  him  he  stood  smiling 
!  the  key  turned  in  the 
ird  his  despairing  and 

bs  at  that  moment,  for 
eping,  and  throughout 
sympathetic  sense  of 
life  which  might  have 
irn  himself,  upheld  by 


GRISELDA 


ao3 


-,i,J^tiM-^^ 


his  iron  nerve,  seemed  less  moved  than  any 
one  and  went  calmly  on. 

As  for  Griselda  she  could  bear  no  more. 
As  Grayburn  told  in  his  clear  and  quiet  way 
the  story  of  her  own  birth,  of  her  mother's 
death,  of  his  repeated  letters  to  Lord  Lomond 
which  met  with  no  response,  of  his  deter- 
mination to  bring  up  the  child  himself,  of 
the  pains  he  had  been  at  during  the  last 
twenty  years  to  collect  all  possible  proofs 
of  her  lawful  and  honorable  birth,  of  his 
delay  in  putting  forth  her  claim  through  his 
absence  at  a  distant  mining  camp  and  con- 
sequent ignorance  of  Lord  Lomond's  death 
— as  he  told  all  this  with  calmness,  exact- 
ness, and  an  air  of  scrupulous  truth  and 
conviction,  Griselda  no  longer  heard.  Mind 
and  spirit  had  had  for  the  moment  all  they 
could  endure.  Little  by  little  she  bent 
towards  Lady  Phillida,  and  soon  sank 
altogether  into  those  sisterly,  motherly 
arms.  For  the  second  time  in  her  young 
and  healthy  life  the  veil  of  an  enveloping 
night  seemed  to  have  come  down  over  all 
her  senses,  and  there  was  a  moment's 
absolute  repose. 

Of    all    that  followed    the    girl    had    no 
further    recollection,       As    she    now    sat 


«! 


I 


V, 


t«4 


griselda 


brooding  by  the  fire  only  these  few  faces 
stood  out  against  a  background  of  troubled 
memories.     Only  these  few  voices  sounded 
amid  the  utterances  of  a  confused  and  haunt- 
ing dream.     She  had  been  ill,  for  some  days 
afterwards,  and  when  she  was  able  to  travel 
she  had  left  London.     Then  she  had  waited, 
and    rested,   almost    indifferent    as   to  the 
result.      Her  tired    mind   seemed  to  have 
grown  apathetic,  her  heart  insensible.  ^  Lady 
Phillida  surrounded  her  with  love  and  care, 
Grayburu  was  unobtrusively  attentive.     She 
herself,  while  physically  well  was  in  a  state 
of  nervous  convalescence— listless,  languid, 
unable  to  think  or  to  care,  finding  a  certain 
satisfaction  in  material  well-being,  but  other- 
wise without  much  emotion  of  either  expec- 
tation  or  regret. 

And  now  that  she  felt  stronger,  now  that 
the  vigor  of  her  nature  had  asserted  itself 
again,  all  came  back  to  her  once  more.  As 
her  eye  fell  upon  the  paper  in  her  hands  she 
remembered  who  and  what  she  was.  She 
was  a  great  lady,  head  of  an  ancient  race 
and  mistress  of  large  lands.  Honors  had 
come  to  her  not  by  marriage  as  to  most 
other  women,  but  by  right  of  blood  and 
birth;  she  had  youth,  beauty,  wit,  wealth, 


-rffciai-i.-JiV»M«»«^  W»*** 


lda 

nly  these  few  faces 
kground  of  troubled 
few  voices  sounded 
confused  and  haunt- 
!en  ill,  for  some  days 
tie  was  able  to  travel 
rhen  she  had  waited, 
[different    as   to  the 
nd   seemed  to  have 
art  insensible.    Lady 
r  with  love  and  care, 
lively  attentive.     She 
ly  well  was  in  a  state 
ice— listless,  languid, 
:are,  finding  a  certain 
well-being,  but  other- 
otion  of  either  expec- 

jlt  stronger,  now  that 
re  had  asserted  itself 
o  her  once  more.  As 
)aper  in  her  hands  she 
[  what  she  was.  She 
d  of  an  ancient  race, 
!  lands.  Honors  had 
marriage  as  to  most 
r  right  of  blood  and 
,  beauty,  wit,  wealth, 


GRISELDA 


ao5 


and  whatever    else    makes  for    happiness. 
But  that  was  not  all.     She  wai  supremely 
the  child    of    sorrow,  bom   at    a    moment 
when    her     father's     soul,     stricken     by 
shame,   was  fleeing    to  the    mercy    of   its 
Maker.       She     had    been     cradled     With- 
out tenderness,    nursed   without  pity,    and 
brought  up  without  love.      In  all  this  she 
had  never  for  a  moment  had  a  thought  of 
rebellion  or  complaint.    She  had  been  brave 
and  patient,  and   had    waited  with  girlish 
hope  for  the  moment  when  love  and  honor 
would  offer  her  whatever  good  this  world 
had  to  give.     That  day  had  come.      The 
patent  of  honor  was  in  her  hands;  the  proof 
of  love  in  heart. 

But  under  the  circumstances  the  irony  of 
life  seemed  needlessly  severe.  As  Griselda 
thought  of  it  large  tears  of  self-pity— tears 
like  those  of  a  lonely,  sobbing  child— rolled 
down  her  cheeks  and  fell  in  great,  salt  drops 
upon  the  document  in  which  her  earthly 
dignities  were  attested  by  the  Queen's  own 
hand. 


^1 


XII 

"May  I  come  in?" 

There  was  a  light  tap  at  the  door,  and 
Lady  Phillida  entered  without  waiting  for 
a  response.  Her  dress  was  soft  and  trailing 
like  Griselda's,  and  with  the  smile  of  morn- 
ing greeting  on  her  lips,  and  her  gray  eyes 
large  and  soft  and  bright  like  those  of  a 
woman  who  has  found  new  joy  in  life,  she 
seemed  to  Griselda  even  younger  than  when 
they  had  first  met,  now  nearly  a  year  ago. 

She  leaned  over  the  back  of  the  girl's 
chair  and  kissed  her  lightly  on  the  fore- 
head. 

"Good  morning,  dear,"  she  sa.'d  briskly, 
going  towards  the  fire  and  holding  out  her 
small,  cold  hands  to  the  warmth.  "I  should 
have  been  in  before  only  that  I  had  to  order 
dinner.  Mr.  Grayburn  is  coming  and  I've 
been  wondering  whether  we  ought  to  ask 
some  one  else  or  keep  him  all  to  ourselves. 

Griselda  said  nothing.  With  eyes  in  which 
the  tears  were  still  shining  she  looked  up 
at  Lady  Phillida  and  wondered  how  a 
206 


wc 
\oy 
fre 
ca: 
we 

ol( 
tu; 
sti 
po 


an 

th 
en 

h€ 

yc 

bi 

m 
a\ 
sh 

d( 


r.-*i4^«i'**i-'it»»^fcv*  J*  ■■^' 


-JUA»«6.  *fflKiM>iiM»ftw-*"'-'fe**^^<**'"*'''^**'' 


J. 


ip  at  the  door,  and 
without  waiting  for 
was  soft  and  trailing 
.  the  smile  of  morn- 
s,  and  her  gray  eyes 
ght  like  those  of  a 
new  joy  in  life,  she 
L  younger  than  when 
■  nearly  a  year  ago. 
e  back  of  the  girl's 
lightly  on  the  fore- 

r,"  she  sa."d  briskly, 
and  holding  out  her 
warmth.  "I  should 
y  that  I  had  to  order 
is  coming  and  I've 
ler  we  ought  to  ask 
im  all  to  ourselves. ' ' 
With  eyes  in  which 
ining  she  looked  up 
I    wondered    how  a 


GRISELDA 


207 


woman  who  had  lost  the  man  she  devotedly 
loved  could,  years  afterwards,  still  keep  the 
fresh  pink  bloom  upon  her  cheek,  and  go  on 
caring  for  dress  and  dinners,  as  though  there 
were  anything  left  to  live  for. 

"It  will  be  dull  for  you  with  only  us  two 
old  folks,"  Lady  Phillida  went  on  without 
turning  round,  and  with  hands  still  out- 
stretched towards  the  cheerful  flame.  "Sup- 
pose we  were  to  ask  that  young  Mannering 
— you  liked  him — or  Major  Dromhead?" 

"Oh,  not  for  me,"  Griselda  gasped. 

"Then  who,  dear?  Tredegar  is  in  town, 
and  may  be  doing  nothing " 

"No  one,  please,  please.  Lady  Phillida," 
the  girl  cried  with  a  sob.  "I  couldn't 
endure  it  indeed.     I  couldn't  talk " 

Lady  Phillida  turned  round  and  looked  at 
her  slowly  and  critically. 

"You've  been  crying,"  she  said.  "And 
you  haven't  eaten  your  breakfast." 

Then  her  eye  fell  on  the  paper  with  its 
bright  red  seals.  She  looked  at  it  for  a 
moment  without  speaking;  and  then,  with 
awe-stricken  interrogation  on  every  feature, 
she  bent  to  look  into  the  girl's  face. 

"Griselda!"  she  whispered,  pointing  at  the 
document.    "Is  it ?" 


,fl 


fi 


208 


GRISELDA 


"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  sobbing  again,  and 
with  the  tears  coursing  down  her  cheeks. 

Lady  Phillida  took  the  sheet  and  slowly 
read  the  few  formal  sentences.  Then  she 
threw  herself  on  her  knees  and  clasped 
Griselda  in  her  arras. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear!"  she  cried. 
"What  can  I  say  to  you?  I  was  sure  it 
would  come.  They  couldn't  have  decided 
otherwise.  And  yet  I  scarcely  dared  hope. 
What  joy!  What  news  for  Mr.  Graybum! 
We  must  wire  him  to  come  at  once. " 


^•TT 


"He  is  coming,"  Griselda  sobbed.  'He 
said  so  last  night. " 

• '  So  much  the  better.  •  • 

The  two  women  kissed  each  other  and 
Griselda  went  on  weeping,  her  head  on  her 
friend's  shoulder. 

"Stop  crying,"  Lady  Phillida  cried,  at 
length,  springing  to  her  feet,  and  begin- 
ning to  move  excitedly  about  the  little  room. 
"Stop  crying,  and  tell  me  if  I  look  well 
enough  to  receive  Mr.  Graybum  on  such  a 
joyful  occasion,  in  this  old  thing,  or  ought 
I  to  put  on  the  new  gray.  No,  on  second 
thoughts  I  won't.  I  will  leave  the  honors 
to  you  to-day,  and  in  the  gray  I  might  out- 
shine  you.     Griselda,"  she  cried,  seizing  the 


th 
to 
al 
at 
w 


d< 
tl 

g 

tl 
it 
o 
E 
ii 

F 
F 

V 

e 
I 
e 
i 

1 


3LDA 

•1,  sobbing  again,  and 
g  down  her  cheeks, 
the  sheet  and  slowly 
sentences.    Then  she 
r    knees  and  clasped 

y  dear!"  she  cried. 
)  you?  I  was  sure  it 
20uldn't  have  decided 
I  scarcely  dared  hope, 
wsfor  Mr.  Graybum! 
come  at  once, 
iriselda  sobbed.     ''He 

!r." 

:issed  each  other  and 

jping,  her  head  on  her 

ady  Phillida  cried,  at 
her  feet,  and  begin- 
[y  about  the  little  room, 
tell  me  if  I  look  well 
Ir.  Graybum  on  such  a 
lis  old  thing,  or  ought 
rr  gray.  No,  on  second 
I  will  leave  the  honors 
1  the  gray  I  might  out- 
,"  she  cried,  seizing  the 


GRISELDA 


309 


girl's  head  between  her  hands,  and  turning 
the     dark,    tear-bedimmed     eyes    upward 
towards  her  own,  "do  you  realize  that  it  is 
all  over,  that  we  have  won?   I  don't,  I  can't; 
at  least  not   yet.      I    wish  Mr.   Graybum 
would  come.     I  think  I  hear  a  hansom." 
She  hurried  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
"No,"  she    continued,   "it   isn't    at  our 
door."     Then,  coming  back  to  the  fire  a.nd 
throwing  out  her  arms  with  a  French-like 
gesture,  "Griselda,  my  dear  Griselda,  just 
think  of  what  you  are.     You  don't  take  it 
in.     We  cannot  yet.     A  countess    in  your 
own  right— the    only    one    in    the   Three 
Kingdoms  since  old  Lady  Ayrshire  died.     It 
is  better  than  being  a  duchess,  than  being  a 
princess  even.      A  man-peer    is  common- 
place;   so  is    a    man-peer's  wife.      But   a 
woman-peer   is  everything  that  is  pictur- 
esque.    Even  an  old  witch  of  a  woman  like 
Lady  Ayrshire  had  round  her  a  certain  halo 
easily  visible  to  the  eye  of  faith;  but  when 
it  is  you,  with  your  looks  and  air  and  money 
—oh,  what  a  chance,    what  luck,   what  a 
position!   You  will  sign  your  name  Lomond, 
you  know,  just  like  a  man." 

"I     don't    mean     to     take    the    title," 
Griselda  said  weakly,  drying  her  eyes.     "I 


^WfenMCIMS' 


aio 


GRISELI>A 


hate  it.     I  shall  call  myself  Griselda  Grant 
as  before." 

"Nonsense,  my  dear,"  Lady  Phillida 
said,  heartily,  "you  won't  do  anything  of 
the  sort.  It  wouldn't  be  legal.  It  wouldn't 
be  allowed." 

"I  can't  call  myself  by  the  name  of  which 
I  have  robbed  another." 

"Oh,  you  are  thinking  of  him,  are  you?" 

"I  can't  help  it." 

"Naturally,  dear,  you  are  sorry  for  him 
now,  though  that  has  not  seemed  to  me 
your  mental  attitude  during  the  last  six 
months.  Still  you  can  afford  to  be  generous 
to  a  vanquished  rival,  especially  out  of  such 
abundance  as  yours." 

"I  am  more  than  sorry." 

"So  am  I.  Dear  Lady  Glenorchie  has 
been  very  disagreeable  towards  me  ever 
since  our  little  declaration  of  hostilities  at 
Ascot.  I  don't  suppose  we  shall  ever  be 
friends  again.  I  don't  see  how  we  can  be. 
But  I  bear  her  no  malice,  I  assure  you.  I 
couldn't  if  I  would,  now  that  your  success 
has  so  amply  avenged  us.  If  I  dared  I 
should  go  to  Tunbridge  Wells  and  pay  her 
a  visit  of  condolence.  Yes,  I  can  truthfully 
say  as  you  do  that  I  am  more  than  sorry  for 


tl 

P 
■« 

ti 

fi 
I 
h 
n 
b 
li 
C 
c 
\ 
s 

I 
I 

r 
t 
1; 
c 
I 
s 


SLDA 

nyself  Griselda  Grant 

jar,"  Lady  Phillida 
won't  do  anything  of 
be  legal.    It  wouldn't 

by  the  name  of  which 

ng  of  him,  are  you?" 

'ou  are  sorry  for  him 

s   not  seemed  to  me 

during  the  last  six 

afford  to  be  generous 

especially  out  of  such 

rry." 

Lady  Glenorchie  has 
ble  towards  me  ever 
ration  of  hostilities  at 
ose  we  shall  ever  be 
't  see  how  we  can  be. 
alice,  I  assure  you.  I 
low  that  your  success 
ed  us.  If  I  dared  I 
Ige  Wells  and  pay  her 
Yes,  I  can  truthfully 
,m  more  than  sorry  for 


GRISELDA 


»xs 


them  both;  but  we  mustn't  let  our  sym- 
pathy lead  us  into  anything  absurd,  as  it 
would,  my  dear,  if  you  didn't  bear  youj* 
title." 

"How  can  I  bear  it,"  the  girl  cried  almost 
fiercely,  "when  he  has  had  to  give  it  up? 
In  my  mind  it  can  never  be  anything  but 
his.  If  I  were  to  take  all  that  this  paper  gives 
me  I  should  feel  that  I  were  calling  myself 
by  his  name  and  spending  his  money  and 

living  in  his  house  without  being  mar 

Oh,  I  couldn't.  Lady  Phillida,  I  couldn't,  I 
couldn't.  I  shall  go  back  to  America. 
When  I  am  dead  there  will  be  nobody  to 
stand  any  longer  between  all  this  and  him. 
No,  no,  I  can't  do  that  either.  I  forgot. 
I'm  hemmed  in." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  only  Lady 
Phillida's  quick  hand  saved  the  fatal  docu- 
ment from  falling  into  the  fire.  The  girl 
begaif  to  pace  nervously  up  and  down  the 
little  room,  according  to  her  habit  when 
overwrought  or  excited.  The  older  woman 
looked  at  her  curiously,  a  new  idea  of  the 
situation  dawning  in  her  mind. 

"I  have  been  a  fool,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"I  should  have  understood  this  long  ago. 
I  thought  I  had  some  knowledge  of  human 


tt^.-.-./^lwft»ii^^t*Sw^^ 


rf;i£is£Si^  ->^'  ~ 


913 


GRISELETA 


nature,  but  there  is  always  something  left 
to  learn." 

••My  dear  child,"  she  said  aloud,  •'you 
want  your  breakfast.  You  will  feel  better 
when  you  have  eaten  something." 

"I  can't  eat,"  Griselda  said  impatiently, 
turning  on  her  steps  like  a  captive  animal 
in  a  cage. 

••The  coffee  is  stone  cold,"  Lady  Phillida 
said,  tapping  the  coffee-pot,  "so  is  the 
toast,  so  is  the  egg.  I  will  get  you 
something  hot.  It  will  never  do  for  Mr. 
Graybum  to  find  you  like  this.  He  will 
think  me  a  very  incompetent  mother  to  his 

child." 

When  she  left  the  room  Griselda  con- 
tinued her  walk,  making  no  further  effort 
to  conceal  her  emotion,  beating  her  hands 
against  her  sides,  and  moaning  softly  as  if  in 
physical  pain.  Presently  Lady  Phillida 
returned  bearing  the  tray  which  she  herself 
had  arranged.  Silver,  china,  and  linen  were 
all  exquisite  and  inviting;  and  the  kind 
woman  affectionately  forced  Griselda  to  sit 
down  and  eat. 

'•Now,  tell  me  the  truth,"  Lady  Phillida 
said,  seating  herself  opposite  Griselda  who 
tried  to  sip  her  coffee,  "tell  me  the  truth. 


nt 


tt 


01 

ai 

re 

c< 

ai 


P 
n: 

tl 


L 


EL  DA 

ilways  something  left 

she  said  aloud,  "you 
You  will  feel  better 

something. ' ' 

elda  said  impatiently, 
like  a  captive  animal 

ecold,"  Lady  Phillida 
offee-pot,  "so  is  the 
;g.  I  will  get  you 
will  never  do  for  Mr. 
u  like  this.  He  will 
tnpetent  mother  to  his 

i  room  Griselda  con- 
iking  no  further  eflfort 
on,  beating  her  hands 
moaning  softly  as  if  in 
sently  Lady  Phillida 
J  tray  which  she  herself 
r,  china,  and  linen  were 
iviting;  and  the  kind 
jr  forced  Griselda  to  sit 

5  truth,"  Lady  Phillida 

opposite  Griselda  who 

:ee,  "tell  me  the  truth. 


GRISELDA 


ai3 


IS  no 


Why  are  you  so  unhappy?     There 
need  to  hide  anything  from  me." 

"I  don't  think  I  can  talk  of  it,  dear  Lady 
Phillida." 

"You  must  talk  of  it.  It  will  do  you 
good." 

"There  is  so  much.  There  are  so  many 
things." 

"Then  we  will  take  them  one  by  one." 

"They  are  too  involved  and  entangled." 

"Then  we  will  unravel  them." 

"And  besides  you  couldn't  help  me.  No 
one  can  help  me. " 

"I  could  advise,  perhaps." 

"There  is  no  advice  that  can  be  given  me, 
and  none  that  I  could  take. " 

"Then  I  might  comfort  you." 

"Not  yet.  Later,  perhaps,  but  I  am  not 
ready  for  comfort  yet." 

Griselda  had  regained  something  of  her 
composure  and  spoke  in  her  usual  decisive 
and  incisive  way. 

"I  am  not  patient  of  mysteries,"  Lady 
Phillida  said,  after  a  moment's  reflection. 
"Some  people  like  their  atmosphere,  and 
perhaps  you  are  one,  Griselda  dear.  For 
my  part  I  live  in  the  clear  and  open  and  I 
think  it  the  only  healthy  air  to  breathe. " 


\ 


H  ^ 

Iv 

I 


Hi.-;^ 


314 


GRISELDA 


"I  am  not  concealing  anything  from  you," 
Griselda  said  gently.  "But  my  troubles  are 
of  the  kind  which  no  one  can  help  me  to 

bear." 

"They  are  troubles  which  spring  largely 
from  remorse?    Isn't  that  true?" 

"Yes,"  Griselda  assented,  looking  into 
the  depths  of  her  coffee  cup  as  though  into 
the  lake  of  black  despair. 

"Of  remorse  towards  poor  Nigel?"  Lady 

Phillida  went  on. 

"Yes,"  Griselda  said  again. 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  asking  impertinent 
questions  at  the  proper  time,"  Lady  Phillida 
continued.  "In  what  you  feel  at  this 
moment  remorse  is  only  one  element?" 

Griselda  flushed  but  did  not  reply. 

"You  are  a  clever  actress,"  Lady  Phillida 
said,  smiling.  "I  thought  that  was  all  over 
ana  gone.  You  really  had  made  me  believe 
that  you  were  mistaken  in  thinking  that 
you  cared " 

"I  wish  I  had  been." 

"Dear  child,"  the  older  woman  said  with 
affection  beaming  in  her  eyes,  "how  wrong 
you  are  not  to  talk  to  me  fraakly!  I  have 
been  through  all  this  so  often  with  other 
girls.      There  is  an  old  saying  that  love  will 


g 


g 

n 
e 
s 
fi 
is 
n 
h 
G 
a 
tl 
1 
U 
s^ 


ELDA 

ig  anything  from  you, " 

"But  my  troubles  are 

0  one  can  help  me  to 

5  which  spring  largely 

that  true?" 

assented,  looking  into 

lee  cup  as  though  into 

aair. 

rds  poor  Nigel?"  Lady 

id  again. 

of  asking  impertinent 
er  time,"  Lady  Phillida 
lat  you  feel  at  this 
nly  one  element?" 
at  did  not  reply, 
actress,"  Lady  Phillida 
lought  that  was  all  over 
ly  had  made  me  believe 
:aken  in  thinking  that 

a." 

older  woman  said  with 
n  her  eyes,  "how  wrong 

to  me  fraakly!  I  have 
his  so  often  with  other 
old  saying  that  love  will 


GRISELDA 


"S 


find  the  way.  It  is  like  water;  you  may 
turn  it  from  its  channel,  or  you  may  dam  it 
up;  but  it  forces  its  passage  just  the  same. 
Love  is  the  most  irrepressible  power  on 
earth.  It  bends  circumstances  to  its  will, 
and  turned  from  its  object  in  one  way,  will 
get  to  it  by  another.  As  Sainte  Beuve  says, 
'L'amour  est  un  grand  recommenceur,' 
which  ID  true  in  a  great  many  senses.  It 
gives  persistence  and  perseverance  to  the 
most  easily  discouraged,  and  as  long  as  it 
exists  the  very  weakest  of  us  is  brave.  I 
said  that  it  was  like  water,  but  it  is  also  like 
fire,  in  that  when  you  think  it  smothered  it 
is  only  smouldering,  and  that  at  the  very 
moment  when  it  seems  extinguished  in  your 
heart  it  bursts  out  into  a  sudden  flame. 
Griselda  dear,  I  know  all  about  it.  There 
are  none  of  its  moods  from  joy  to  jealousy 
that  I  have  not  lived  through.  Trust  me. 
Tell  me.  Let  me  be  your  mother,  your  sis- 
ter, your  woman-friend,  anything  that  one 
sympathetic  understanding  heart  can  be  to 
another.  Tell  me  all  about  it.  You  can  tell 
me  anything.  If  it  were  strange  it  wouldn't 
surprise  me,  if  it  were  sin  it  would  not  shock 
me — coming  from  you.  Only  don't  shut  me 
out   from   what   is  most    essentially    your 


i-. 


u^^. 


•Ift 


GRISELDA 


life,  because— because  I  care  for  you  so 
much,  and  through  you  my  life  has  in 
more  ways   than  one    begun    to   be    glad 

again."  ,       ,     i    j 

Griselda,  as  Lady  Phillida  spoke,  looked 
into  the  gray  eyes  out  of  which  all  the  hard- 
ness so  often  there  was  gone,  while  in  its 
place  a  strange  new  light  was  shining- 
steady,  strong,  and  tender,  like  the  light 
of  love  for  some  one  who  is  more  than 

friend. 

"Yes,   I  wiU  tell    you,"    Griselda  said, 
speaking  firm  ty,  with  a  touch  of  hardness  in 
her  tone.     "You  will  despise  me,  but  I  will 
tell  you  eveiything.      I  will  keep  nothing 
back.     I  love  one  man  as  I  am  capable  of 
loving.     You  know  whom.     I  love  him  in 
such  a  way  as  to  have  no  thought  left  but 
for  him-no  heart  left  but  for  him-no  life 
left  but  for  him.     This  is  not  exaggeration, 
^his  is  truth.     I  have  given  him  all  I  have 
and  am— all  for  which  my  being  has  capac- 
ity     This  for  one  man.    And  I  am  going 
soon,  to-morrow  perhaps,  to-day  for  aught  I 
know,  to  marry  another.     There;   I  have 
told  you.     Is  it  enough?" 

'Already?"  . 

The  word,  spoken  softly  in  a  whisper  of 


a 
ai 

a] 


w 


II 


ai 


A 
fi 

S 
ai 
si 
li 
oi 
n 

tl 
oj 


1 


LDA 

I    care   for  you  so 

yon  my  life    has  in 

begun    to    be    glad 

hillida  spoke,  looked 
of  which  all  the  hard- 
as  gone,  while  in  its 
light  was  shining— 
ender,  like  the  light 
e  who  is  more   than 

you,"    Griselda  said, 
a  touch  of  hardness  in 
despise  me,  but  I  will 
I  will  keep  nothing 
in  as  I  am  capable  of 
whom.     I  love  him  in 
ve  no  thought  left  but 
ft  but  for  him— no  life 
is  is  not  exaggeration, 
e  given  him  all  I  have 
ti  my  being  has  capac- 
lan.     And  I  am  going 
aps,  to-day  for  aught  I 
•ther.      There;   I  have 

.  softly  in  a  whisper  of 


GRISELDA 


"7 


astonishment,  escaped  from  Lady  Phillida 
as  it  had  from  Glenorchie  six  months 
ago. 

"Already,"  Griselda  said,  in  the  same 
hard  tone. 

"Who  is  it,"  Lady  Phillida  asked,  her 
wondering  eyes  fixed  upon  Griselda's. 

"Mr.  Graybum,"  said  the  footman,  throw- 
ing the  door  open. 

They  could  hear  the  new-comer  taking  off 
his  overcoat  in  the  hall  below. 

"Who  is  it?"  Lady  Phillida  whispered 
again  when  the  servant  had  withdrawn. 

"He  is  coming, "  Griselda  whispered  back. 
"He  is  on  the  stairs.  I  am  going  to  marry 
him." 

They  were  looking  hard  each  at  the  other. 
As  Griselda  spoke  she  saw  the  color  fade 
from  Lady  Phillida's  cheek  like  the  after- 
glow from  a  peak  of  snow.  The  face  which 
an  instant  ago  was  young  and  bright  became 
suddenly  haggard  and  blanched,  while  the 
light  in  the  eyes  went  out.  With  the  flash 
of  instinctive  perception  Griselda  knew  the 
reason  why. 

It  seemed  an  eternity  that  they  sat  gazing 
thus,  leaning  across  the  table  towards  each 
other,    white  and  wide-eyed  with  horror, 


L 


1, 

r    1, 


m 


ili 


a, 8  GRISELDA 

while  the  man's  footstep  resounded  on  the 

stair.  J       4IT* 

"No,  no,  no,"  Griselda  whispered.        it 

can't  be  that.     Say  it  is  not  that. " 
Lady  Phillida  nodded  her  confession. 
"It  is  that,"  she  said  aloud,  with  a  gesture 
indicative  of   fatalistic   acceptance    of    the 
fact     **It  is  that.    Why  should  I  say  no?" 
Making  such  an  effort  as  is  possible  only 
to  the  experienced  woman  of  the  world, 
Lady  Phillida  braced  herself,  rose,  and  with 
a  smile  upon    n^r  ashen  lips  went  forward, 
hand  outstretched,  to  greet  Graybum  at  the 
door. 


i* 


;ldA 


;ep  resounded  on  the 

slda  whispered. 

s  not  that." 

d  her  confession. 

I  aloud,  with  a  gesture 

c    acceptance    of    the 

rhy  should  I  say  no?" 

:ort  as  is  possible  only 

woman  of  the  world, 

herself,  rose,  and  with 

len  lips  went  forward, 

greet  Graybum  at  the 


XIII 

As  she  crossed  the  room  Lady  Phillida 
had  a  distinct  recollection  of  the  moment 
when,  fifteen  years  before,  the  physician  had 
told  her  that  her  husband  could  not  live. 
She  had  the  same  sense  now  of  being 
stunned  by  the  unexpected,  of  being  unable 
to  think  or  to  understand.  And  yet  the 
greater  circumstance  was  for  the  moment 
hidden  by  the  less. 

"I  must  get  through  these  few  minutes 
somehow,"  she  told  herself.  "Then  I  can 
let  it  all  come  upon  me  later." 

So  she  smiled,  and  taking  Graybum's 
hand,  said  with  an  exaggerated  gaiety: 

"See,  the  conquering  hero  comes!  We 
have  been  like  the  mother  of  Sisera  for  at 
least  half  an  hour." 

"Is  that  why  you  are  so  pale?"  he  asked, 
holding  her  hand  and  looking  at  her  almost 
anxiously. 

"Hope  deferred  always  maketh  the  heart 
sick,"  she  replied.      "But  we  have  reason 
to  be  pale.     Just  look  at  Griselda. " 
219 


L. 


1 1 

it 


aMS>i«eM:ai3»>s«ii^'^- ' 


aao 


GRISELDA 


The  girl  had  risen,  and  was  standing  by 
the  table,  white-faced,  white-robed,  her  left 
hand  clasping  mechanically  the  rolled  paper 
to  her  breast,  and  her  large  dark  eyes  dilat- 
ing. As  Grayburn  entered  she  felt  that  she 
was  face  to  face  with  fate. 

He  advanced  and  kissed  her  tenderly  on 
the  forehead,  taking  the  document  from  her 

hand. 

"You  too  are  pale,"  he  said.  "But  I  know 
why.  It  isn't  strange.  Things  like  this 
don't  come  every  day. " 

•'You  know?"  Griselda  asked. 

"Yes.  Little  Tredegar,  of  the  Home 
Office,  told  me  it  had  been  sent  to  Windsor 
for  the  Queen's  signature.  He  said  it 
would  probably  come  to-day.     Let  us  look 

at  it." 

Lady  Phillida  watched  him  as  he  read, 
noting  his  coolness,  simplicity,  and  lack  of 
undue  elation. 

"He  is  a  man!"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she 
had  said  a  hundred  times  during  the  last  six 
months,  but  now  with  a  sudden  anguished 
throbbing  in  her  heart. 

"I  am  going  to  ring  for  Ellis  to  take  away 
the  breakfast-tray,"  she  said  cheerfully,  as 
Grayburn  laid  the  document  down.     "Then 


ILDA 


GRISELDA 


331 


and  was  standing  by 
white-robed,  her  left 
cally  the  rolled  paper 
large  dark  eyes  dilat- 
;ered  she  felt  that  she 
ate. 

issed  her  tenderly  on 
le  document  from  her 

he  said.  "But  I  know 
;e.  Things  like  this 
»i 

Ida  asked. 

degar,  of  the  Home 
been  sent  to  Windsor 
nature.  He  said  it 
I  to-day.     Let  us  look 

:hed  him  as  he  read, 
simplicity,  and  lack  of 

J  said  to  herself,  as  she 

mes  during  the  last  six 

h  a  sudden  anguished 

•t. 

g  for  Ellis  to  take  away 

she  said  cheerfully,  as 

icument  down.    "Then 


I  will  leave  you  young  people  to  your  vari- 
ous felicities," 

"You  won't  join  in  our  hymn  of  victory?" 
Grayburn  asked,  as  she  touched  the  electric 
button. 

"Not  now,"  she  answered,  laughing,  and 
going  towards  the  door.  "But  to-night  at 
eight  we  shall  expect  you  to  a  feast  of  fat 
things  full  of  marrow  and  wines  on  the  lees, 
worthy  of  the  day  when  the  king  comes  to 
his  own.     Au  revoir  till  then." 

"If  not  before,"  Grayburn  called  after  her 
as  she  went  down  the  stairs. 

Griselda  re -seated  herself.  Grayburn 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  is  at  home. 

"We  really  owe  all  to  her,"  he  said,  when 
Ellis  had  taken  away  the  tray  and  closed  the 
door.  "If  that  is  saying  too  much  we  at 
least  owe  more  to  her  than  to  any  one  out- 
side ourselves.  What  a  creature  she  is!  I 
have  always  had  the  highest  possible  ideal 
of  what  a  woman  could  be,  and  she  comes 
up  to  it." 

"Why  don't  you  marry  her,  then?" 
Griselda  thought.  "If  I  were  to  work  for 
that?  It  would  be  happiness  to  her,  and 
what  a  release  for  me!" 


!  , 


ia*»e*^-^ii*ifi»S^  ■O'^    >i.antt«-**-.- ^-i 


323 


GRISELDA 


3 
111 


ill 

11! 


But  at  the  last  idea  her  sense  of  honesty 
revolted. 

"No,"  she  went  on  to  herself,  "it  would 
be  disloyal.  I  should  be  striving  not  for  her 
good  but  my  own.  It  would  be  like  buying 
a  thing  and  then  trying  to  shuffle  out  of  pay- 
ment. I  told  him  I  would  not  shrink  from 
the  price,  and  I  must  keep  my  word.  He 
has  been  faithful  to  his  part  of  the  contract, 
an^*  I  must  be  so  to  mine." 

"In  a  case  like  ours,"  Gray  burn  contin- 
ued, "it  isn't  enough  to  have  the  law  only  on 
your  side;  you  must  have  the  prophets  as 
well.  Lady  Phillida  stood  for  them.  How 
she  worked  for  us  among  her  numberless 
relations!  Without  her  we  should  have 
seemed  like  interlopers  and  newly  -  rich 
nobodies.  The  sympathy  would  have  been 
all  for  the  Glenorchie  faction,  whose  posses- 
sion would  have  given  them  not  only  nine 
points  of  the  law,  but  ninety-nine  points  of 
public  opinion.  Lady  Phillida  turned  that 
tide  for  us.  Even  though  she  didn't  quite 
believe  in  us  at  first  she  stood  by  us  like  a 
hero,  and  was  ready  to  fight  for  friendship 
when  she  couldn't  fight  for  faith.  And  so 
to-day,  instead  of  being  in  the  public  eye 
like  Richard  III.,  dethroning  the  rightful 


k 
a 

P 

t 

V 

s 

I 

\ 
i 
i 


SLDA 


GRISELDA 


493 


her  sense  of  honesty 

to  herself,  "it  would 
3e  striving  not  for  her 
would  be  like  buying 
r  to  shuffle  out  of  pay- 
ould  not  shrink  from 
;  keep  my  word.  He 
i  part  of  the  contract, 
ine. 

•s,"  Gray  burn  contin- 
o  have  the  law  only  on 
have  the  prophets  as 
itood  for  them.  How 
nong  her  numberless 
her  we  should  have 
lers  and  newly  -  rich 
ithy  would  have  been 
faction,  whose  posses- 
jn  them  not  only  nine 

ninety-nine  points  of 
(T  Phillida  turned  that 
hiough  she  didn't  quite 

she  stood  by  us  like  a 
to  fight  for  friendship 
g^ht  for  faith.  And  so 
ing  in  the  public  eye 
sthroning  the  rightful 


king,  we  are  like  Charles  II.,  brought  home 
again.    It  is  in  all  the  morning  papers.    Our 
progress  is  regarded  not  as  an  usurpation 
but  a  restoration;  and  we  owe  that  point  of 
view  to  Lady  Phillida.    Oh,  I  have  no  illu- 
sions on  that  subject!     I  know  that  Uncle 
Perthshire  and  Brother  Hull  haven't  sided 
with    us   for    our   beauty.     They   haven't 
invited  you  to  their  castles  and  put  me  up  at 
inaccessible  clubs  because  we  are  their  long- 
lost  affinities.    There  has  been  method  even 
in  their  sanity.     If  it  is  too  late  for  Uncle 
Perthshire  and  Brother  Hull  to  marry  for 
money  they  like  to  go  where  money  is.    And 
the  money  is  here,  dear  Lady  Lomond,  in 
your  pocket  and  mine." 

Griselda  flushed  to  hear  herself  called  by 
the  name.  Once  she  had  dreamed  of  bear- 
ing it  as  Nigel  s  wife.  It  seemed  impossible 
that  it  should  be  hers  otherwise. 

"How  does  it  feel  to  be  called  by  a  high- 
sounding  title?  I  merely  bring  it  in  inci- 
dentally. Lady  Lomond,  in  order  that  you 
may  get  used  to  it.  But,  as  I  was  saying, 
we  have  practically  bought  the  Duke  of 
Perthshire  and  the  Earl  of  Hull  and  most  of 
our  other  devoted  adherents,  not  by  check 
nor  by  money  down,  but  by  the  mere  sight 


Hfca»fr>Tw<irti8ilBBftni»ftiistfi^iifffinw 


irt»eA»K*a»«s»>atoSi*fiK-^6«*»*^^^ 


334 


GRISELDA 


ir 


ill  I 


and  scent  of  gold.  That  is  all  right.  I 
don't  blame  them,  and  I  don't  care.  Uncle 
Perthshire  and  Brother  Hull  are  only  rungs 
on  the  ladder  by  which  you  and  I  are  going 
to  mount  right  up  to  the  top  of  European 
and  American  life." 

Griselda,  on  whose  face  the  sudden  flush 
had  died  away,  made  an  impatient  gesture 
and  tried  to  speak,  but  Graybum  stopped 
her. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  "I  know  you  don't 
care  for  all  that,  but  I  do.  Our  lives  have 
been  so  different.  You  don't  know  anything 
of  the  stress  and  the  fever  and  the  purpose 
to  succeed  that  I've  had  to  live  in.  You've 
been  like  a  flower  sheltered  and  fed  with 
sunshine  that  has  had  nothing  to  do  but 
await  its  time  for  blooming..  Oh,  you've  had 
no  doubt  your  days  of  wind  and  rain,  about 
which  I  know  nothing,  but  your  life  on  the 
whole  has  been  that  of  a  flower  in  fine 
weather.  Mine  has  been  like  a  volcano, 
quiescent  during  long  years,  so  that  people 
have  called  it  extinct,  but  always  burning 
within,  furiously  gathering  force,  and  adding 
fire  to  fire  till  now  it  is  ready  to  burst  forth 
and  make  a  blaze  and  a  noise  in  the  world." 

"What  do  you  want  to  do?"  Griselda  asked 


rt^inrrrrttTSRr 


iri'/  ^j^JiH^KJf Jifam 


BLDA 

That  is  all  right.  I 
1 1  don't  care.  Uncle 
ir  Hull  are  only  rungs 
h.  you  and  I  are  going 
the  top  of  European 

face  the  sudden  flush 

an  impatient  gesture 

)ut  Graybum  stopped 

a,  "I  know  you  don't 
I  do.  Our  lives  have 
u  don't  know  anything 
ever  and  the  purpose 
ad  to  live  in.  You've 
leltered  and  fed  with 
d  nothing  to  do  but 
ming..  Oh,  you've  had 
f  wind  and  rain,  about 
g,  but  your  life  on  the 
:  of  a  flower  in  fine 
been  like  a  volcano, 
g;  years,  so  that  people 
t,  but  always  burning 
iring  force,  and  adding 
is  ready  to  burst  forth 
a  noise  in  the  world. " 
to  do?"  Griselda  asked 


GRISELDA 


335 


coldly,  and  with  a  lack  of  sympathy  to  which 
Graybum  paid  no  attention.  All  this 
ardent,  and,  to  her  serious  mind,  unworthy 
ambition,  was  new  and  painful  on  the  part 
of  the  simple,  resolute  man,  who  had  always 
seemed  old  and  passionless  to  her,  and 
whom  she  had  revered. 

"What  am  I  going  to  do?  I  don't  know. 
So  much  is  possible  that  I  have  only  marked 
out  the  first  few  steps,  but  I  will  indicate 
them  if  your  ladyship  will  give  me  your 
attention." 

Graybum  laughed  as  he  saw  Griselda  flush 
again,  and  drawing  a  small  chair  to  him 
sat  down  astride  on  it,  close  beside  her. 

"Look  at  me,  Griselda,"  he  began,  "look 
at  me  well.  I  have  iron-gray  hair  and  an 
iron-gray  beard  and  moustache.  There  are 
wrinkles  round  my  eyes  and  my  face  shows 
the  signs  of  exposure  to  much  bad  weather, 
and  more  hard  work.  I  don't  wonder  that 
you  always  think  of  me  as  a  veritable  and 
venerable  patriarch.  And  yet  I  am  com- 
paratively young.  I  am  forty-seven.  I 
was    twenty-six  the    year   that   you  were 

born." 

"That  seems  old  to  me,"  Griselda  said, 
with  the    unconscious    cruelty    of   youth. 


^'■•toi>s,'*iW'».»*''~>-»^^f'«'.-. 


it* 


GRISELDA 


"You  were  older  when  I  was  bom  than  I 


•• 


it, 


am  now. 
"But  I 


am  not  old,"  Grayburn  insisted 
smilingly.     "And  yet  I  have  accomplished 
much.     At  an  age  when  most  men  are  still 
sowing  the  seed  of  life  I  have  only  to  put 
out  my  hand  and  pluck  its  fruit.     A  news- 
paper man  would  say  that  I  had  every  pros- 
pect of  a  brilliant  future  before  me ;  and  I 
mean  to  have  it.     You  ask  me  how ;  and  as 
yet  I  can't  precisely  tell  you;  not  because 
the  way  is  obscure,  but  because  there  are  so 
many  ways  that  I  hesitate  between  them. 
After  twenty  years  of  repression  and  starva- 
tion with  regard  to  everything  beautiful  and 
great,  I  want  to  open  my  arms  to  all  that 
civilization  can  ofiEer  and  money  can  buy  and 
splendid  position  can  command.     I  am  not 
the  grave  and  hoary  heavy  father  which 
your  childish,   affectionate   fancy  conjured 
up.     I  am  only  a  starved  man  with  a  huge 
appetite  for  life,  and  a  fiery  craving  for  all 

that  it  can  give  me  to  enjoy " 

"Except  love,"  Griselda  could  not  resist 

saying. 

"Oh,  love,  love!"  Grayburn  laughed  with 
a  wide  gesture  of  the  hand  and  arm.  "Love 
is  always  a  woman's  song;  but  if  that  had 


ha 

hi 

lo 

I 

ns 

hi 

tt 

w 

n 

n 

ai 

s 

k 
ii 
c 

•V 

s 
s 
t 


LDA 


GRISELDA 


337 


1  I  was  bom  than  I 


"  Grayburn  insisted 
I  have  accomplished 
in  most  men  are  still 
e  I  have  only  to  put 
k  its  fruit.  A  news- 
lat  I  had  every  pros- 
are  before  me ;  and  I 

ask  me  how ;  and  as 
ell  you;  not  because 
;  because  there  are  so 
litate  between  them, 
epression  and  starva- 
rything  beautiful  and 

my  arms  to  all  that 
id  money  can  buy  and 
command.     I  am  not 

heavy  father  which 
nate  fancy  conjured 
ired  man  with  a  huge 
El  fiery  craving  for  all 

enjoy " 

ielda  could  not  resist 

raybum  laughed  with 
land  and  arm.  "Love 
song;  but  if  that  had 


had  a  place  in  a  life  like  mine  I  should  never 
have  been  where  I  am  to-day.  I  abjured 
love  when  I  abjured  drink  on  the  day  when 
I  saw  where  they  had  both  led  poor  Invers- 
naid.  Forgive  me,"  he  said  hastily,  putting 
his  hand  on  hers.  "I  am  not  saying  any- 
thing unkind.  I  mean  only  that  love  as  you 
women  understand  it  has  since  that  day  had 
no  significance  for  me,  and,  please  God, 
never  will." 

•'The  sentiment  has  the  virtue  of  novelty 
as  uttered  to  the  woman  who  is  to  be  your 

wife." 

"Let  us  be  sensible,  Griselda  dear,"  he 
said,   in  a  tone  of  gentle  protest.     "You 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  what  I  offer  you 
is  much  better  than  so-called  love  or  any 
other  idle  song.    You  are  now  in  a  position 
where  you  will  be  the  object  of  every  pre- 
sentable  fortune-hunter  in  the  two  hemi- 
spheres.    You  are  dangerously  independent 
to  make  your  own  choice,  while  your  want 
of  experience  would   render  you  an  easy 
victim.     Ask  Lady  Phillida,  ask  any  other 
reasonable  person,  and  every  one  will  tell 
you  that  not  the  least  of  all  your  good  for- 
tune is  that  you  should  be  bound  to  me. 
You  know  what  my  affection  is;  you  know 


li 


tl, 


00. 


GRISELDA 


vs 


what  my  protection  is;  you  have  tested  them 
both.  You  know  that  with  me  you  run  no 
risks  whatever.  Marriage,  they  say,  is  a 
lottery;  but  you  and  I  know  that  in  it  there 
are  two  prizes  and  no  blanks.  What  can 
you  ask  for  more?" 

"Nothing,"  Griselda  said  impassively. 
"I  ask  nothing  at  all." 

"Then  don't  speak  to  me  like  that, "  Gray- 
bum  went  on  in  the  same  tone  of  kindly 
expostulation.  "I  don't  think  I  deserve  it. 
You  have  promised  to  marry  me ;  and  I  have 
given  you  my  help  on  the  strength  of  your 
word.     Do  you  wish  to  draw  back  now?" 

"No,  no,"  Griselda  said  hurriedly. 
"Never.  I  said  I  would  give  you  your 
price,  and  I  will  do  it." 

"Price  is  not  a  pretty  word  when  a  man 
has  worked  for  a  woman  for  twenty  years  as 
I  have  worked  for  you.  Nevertheless,  I 
accept  it;  but  I  should  like  to  say  just  this. 
In  business,  when  a  man  has  bought  a  house 
or  a  horse  or  a  mine,  as  the  case  may  be,  he 
sometimes  feels  on  second  thoughts  that  he 
has  bid  too  high.  But  when  the  day  of 
reckoning  comes  he  puts  his  check  down  in 
a  simple,  straightforward,  honest  fashion. 
If  it  costs  him  an  effort  he  conceals  it,  and 


stt 
he 
to 
of 
be 
lo 
w 

OI 

w 

hi 
ai 
ui 
ei 
II 
w 

Vi 

tl 
P 

V 

r 

y 

c 

y 
I 

n 

1 

s 

£ 


I  lifcl  i»iftrir«)P 


LDA 

you  have  tested  them 
with  me  you  run  no 
iage,  they  say,  is  a 
know  that  in  it  there 
I  blanks.    What  can 

a    said    impassively. 

•  me  like  that, "  Gray- 
same  tone  of  kindly 
't  think  I  deserve  it. 
narry  me ;  and  I  have 
the  strength  of  your 
draw  back  now?" 
ia  said  hurriedly, 
mid   give   you   your 

ty  word  when  a  man 
,n  for  twenty  years  as 
ou.  Nevertheless,  I 
1  like  to  say  just  this. 
,n  has  bought  a  house 
s  the  case  may  be,  he 
ond  thoughts  that  he 
lit  when  the  day  of 
ts  his  check  down  in 
ard,  honest  fashion, 
rt  he  conceals  it,  and 


GRISELDA 


329 


Stands  up  to  his  bargain  with  the  best  grace 
he  can  assume.     He  neither  thinks  nor  tries 
to  make  others  think  that  he  is  the  victim 
of  unfair  advantage.      We  call  that  honor 
between  man  and  man ;  is  it  too  much  to 
look  for  it  between  man  and  woman?    You 
will  excuse  me,  dear  child,  if  I  speak  gravely 
on  a  day  that  should  be  all  smiles,  but  I 
want  things  to  be  clearly  understood.     I 
have  meant  for  years  past  to  marry  you; 
and  when  I  saw  that  you  were  unwilling  I 
used  such  means  as  were  at  my  command  to 
ensure,  to  ensnare  perhaps,  your  consent. 
It  was  a  moment  when  you  were  desperate, 
when  you  saw  that  to  do  what  you  wanted 
would  cost  dear.     I  have  been  in  precisely 
the  same  position  many  a  time ;  and  I  have 
paid  dear.    It  came  high  perhaps,  but  it  was 
worth  it,  and  I  didn't  complain.    In  the  long 
run  I  saw  that  it  was  cheap.     On  the  day 
you  promised  to  marry  me  the  help  that  I 
could  give  you  seemed  worth  the  price,  as 
you  call  it,  that  I  asked  you  to  pay.    Of  that 
help  you  have  since  reaped  the  benefits,  and 
will  continue  to  reap  them  as  long  as  you 
live.     But  I  cannot  honestly  say  that  your 
attitude  to  me  has  been  either  as  gracious  or 
as  generous  as  mine  to  you.    From  that  day 


f-SL^"*£Sf:  ig.iV»«ir>4&iv^-.^' 


-S.  ^  rJt-S.  iV5-^«S*^.»*—  '- 


I 


i|» 


GRISELDA 


!p 


to  this  I  have  allowed  your  promise  to  rest 
very  lightly  on  you.  I  have  spoken  of  it 
rarely  to  you,  and  never  to  any  one  else,  not 
even  to  Lady  Phillida " 

"I've  told  her,"  Griselda  said. 

"That  is  quite  right.  But  I  feel  obliged 
to  say  that  your  undisguised  air  of  repug- 
nance when  the  subject  of  our  marriage  has 
come  up  is  something  which  I  neither 
understand  nor  can  continue  to  endure.  I 
have  no  wish  to  drag  you  like  a  second 
Zenobia  in  golden  chains.  I  am  not  going 
to  ill-treat  you  nor  neglect  you.  You  talk 
of  love  as  though  it  were  the  only  essential, 
but  your  own  experience  is  proof  of  its 
untrustworthy  and  passing  nature.  A  few 
months  ago  you  thought  you  loved  a  young 
man  whom  you  now  despise.  Suppose  you 
had  married  him?  You  would  have  done  so 
with  all  the  orange-flowers  blooming  and 
the  nuptial  trumpets  blowing,  as  though  the 
object  of  life  had  been  won.  And  what 
should  you  have  been  to-day?  A  woman 
who  despises  her  husband,  while  Grod  knows 
what  the  husband  would  have  begun  to  feel 
towards  his  wife." 

"Don't,"  Griselda  pleaded  faintly. 

"No,  I  won't  go  on  with  that.    You  can 


ah 
on 
to 
po 
yo 
do 
yo 
mi 
ou 
wl 
m; 
es 
ha 
we 
th 
as! 

pr 
Je 
in: 
yi( 
to 

bt 
an 
hi 

wl 
ac 
lei 


'fc,„L 


LDA 

your  promise  to  rest 

I  have  spoken  of  it 

'  to  any  one  else,  not 
II 

ilda  said. 

But  I  feel  obliged 
g^uised  air  of  repug- 

of  our  marriage  has 
g  which  I  neither 
ntinue  to  endure.  I 
r  you  like  a  second 
ins.  I  am  not  going 
gleet  you.  You  talk 
:e  the  only  essential, 
jnce  is  proof  of  its 
ising  nature.  A  few 
l  you  loved  a  young 
ispise.  Suppose  you 
I  would  have  done  so 
owers  blooming  and 
owing,  as  though  the 
en  won.    And  what 

to-day?  A  woman 
md,  while  Grod  knows 
d  have  begun  to  feel 

eaded  faintly. 

with  that.    You  can 


GRISELDA 


231 


always  paint  a  fancy  picture  black.  I  speak 
only  of  what  you  yourself  have  given  me 
to  understand,  and  I  cite  it  as  a  case  in 
point.  The  fact  that  you  loved,  or  thought 
you  loved,  a  young  man  less  than  a  year  ago 
does  not  prevent  his  being  objectionable  to 
you  now.  And  therefore  I  contend  that  a 
marriage  of  reason,  such  as  ours  would  be, 
ought  not  to  inspire  you  with  the  horror 
which  you  never  hesitate  to  display.  For 
myself  I  cannot  understand  it.  Our  inter- 
ests have  always  been  identical.  Your  life 
has  been  linked  with  mine  ever  since  you 
were  bom.  What  more  unnatural  than  that 
they  should  be  torn  asunder  now?  But,  I 
ask  you  again,  are  you  seeking  to  elude  your 
promise?  or  do  you  mean  to  keep  it  like  a 
Jephthah's  daughter  or  an  Iphegenia  bewail- 
ing her  sad  lot  but  having  no  choice  but  to 
yield?  If  so  speak  plainly.  It  is  only  just 
to  me. ' ' 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  silence,  Gray- 
bum's  steel-blue  eyes  keen  with  question 
and  determination.  As  Griselda  gazed  at 
him  she  silently  acknowledged  the  justice  of 
what  he  said,  and  knew  that  she  must  try  to 
accept  her  fate,  if  not  with  cheerfulness,  at 
least  with  dignity  and  resignation. 


f 


r 


V 


IS! 

i 


aja 


GRISELDA 


••You  are  quite  right,"  she  said,  in  alow 
voice.     "I  have  been  lacking  in  honor.     I 
have  been  neither  grateful  nor  just.     I  beg 
your  pardon  for  it,  and  will  try  to  be  differ- 
ent     Believe  me,  I  am  not  blind  to  all  your 
goodness  to  me,  but  I  am  and  have  been 
most  unhappy.     But  to-day  I  suppose  is  the 
besrinning  of  a  new  life  for  me,  and  I  am 
going  to  try  to  make  it  so.     I  promise  you 
never  again  to  give  you  cause  for  just  com- 
plaint.    I  will  do  my  best  as  long  as  I  live 
to  make  you  a  good  wife,  to  carry  out  your 
wishes  and  to  assume  towards  our  mamage 
your  own  point  of  view. 

She  smiled  as  she  spoke,  and  held  out  her 
hand.  If  the  smile  was  forced,  and  if  the 
words  had  cost  her  an  immense  effort.  Gray- 
burn  did  not  perceive  it.  He  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  go  behind  and  search  the  motives 
of  what  suited  him. 

••That  is  your  true  self,"  he  said,  taking 
her  hand  and  smiling  also.^  "That  is  the 
Griselda  whom  I  recognize." 

'•I  want  only  to  say  in  self-defence,"  she 
continued,  "what  perhaps  you  will  not 
understand,  that  it  is  the  very  strength  of 
my  affection  for  you  as  father  and  brother 
and  all  in  all  in  my  life  that  makes  it  hard 


ths 

to 

the 

as 

so 

slo 

ba< 

mi: 

to^ 

sh£ 

im 

dai 

in 

ev( 

ev< 

ev< 

adi 

is  1 

hei 

hei 

CO] 

sm 


ILDA 


GRISELDA 


333 


:,"  she  said,  in  alow 
lacking  in  honor.     I 
teful  nor  just.     I  beg 
[  will  try  to  be  differ- 
1  not  blind  to  all  your 
I  am  and  have  been 
o-day  I  suppose  is  the 
ife  for  me,  and  I  am 
it  so.     I  promise  you 
lu  cause  for  just  corn- 
best  as  long  as  I  live 
vife,  to  carry  out  your 
;  towards  our  marriage 

poke,  and  held  out  her 
vas  forced,  and  if  the 
I  immense  efEort,  Gray- 
it.  He  was  not  accus- 
and  search  the  motives 

5  self,"  he  said,  taking 
ig  also.  "That  is  the 
)giiize." 

ay  in  self-defence,"  she 
perhaps  you  will  not 
is  the  very  strength  of 
I  as  father  and  brother 
life  that  makes  it  hard 


for  me  to  think  of  you  as  my  husband.  It 
would  be  hard  in  any  case,  but  it  is  espe- 
cially so  after  what  took  place  last  year." 

"It  doesn't  matter  whether  I  understand 
that  or  not,"  he  said,  with  a  complete  return 
to  the  happy  tone  in  which  he  had  spoken  at 
the  beginning  of  the  conversation,  "as  long 
as  I  know  that  it  is  the  case.  Since  it  is 
so  we  will  hurry  nothing,  we  will  hasten 
slowly,  and  take  our  time ;  which  brings  me 
back  to  what  we  were  talking  about  a  few 
minutes  ago.  You  asked  me  what  I  propose 
to  do.  Well,  the  first  thing  is  that  which  I 
shall  tell  you  last.  Secondly,  and  most 
important,  I  propose  that  my  wife  as  grande 
dame  shall  have  a  position  inferior  to  none 
in  Europe  or  America,  that  she  shall  have 
everything  that  is  worth  having,  and  do 
everything  that  is  worth  doing,  and  know 
every  one  who  is  worth  knowing,  and  be 
admired  and  honored  and  sought  out  as  she 
is  worthy  to  be.  With  her  rank,  her  youth, 
her  beauty,  her  goodness,  her  intelligence, 
her  wealth,  she  shall  have  more  than  can  be 
commanded  by  any  queen." 

At  his  enthusiastic,  boy -like  tone  Griselda 
smiled  in  spite  of  herself. 

"I  am  not  capable  of  that,"  she  said. 


1-  ,viai»St»I>"-'""**«^***^' 


i;- 


1 1 


i 


334  GRISELDA 

"Lomond  Lodge,"  he  went  on,  "shall  be 
the    most   hospitable    home    in    England. 
House  of  Tulloch  shall  again  become  one  of 
the  grandest  residences  in  Scotland.    This 
shall  be  your  setting,   the  background   of 
your  state;  where  I  shall  come  kss  as  mas- 
ter than  as  guest.     But  this  is  not  all,"  he 
added,  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone.     "I 
shall  be  no  prince-consort,  and  play  no  sec- 
ond part.     If  you  are  to  stand  for  beauty,  I 
shall  be  here  for  use.     I  have  great  dreams. 
Griselda,  practical   dreams,  I.  think,  and  I 
mean  to  do  my  best  to  carry  them  out.    Our 
home  is  to  be  in  two  continents.     We  must 
not  forget  that  while  you  are  Scotch  and  I 
am  English  we  are  both,  in  a  sense  Ameri- 
cans.    With    a    great    position    and   great 
wealth  we  shall   have  great  opportunities, 
and  especially  for  the  work  which  lies  near- 
est of  all  to  my  heart,  the  unification  in 
sentiment  and  for  all  the  purposes  of  civili- 
zation  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  people.     This  is 
big  talk  but  I  think  it  can  be  justified.     I 
have  bought  a  house  in  New  York— a  very 
beautiful  house— and  we  shall  live  almost  as 
much  there  as  here.     But  even  this  is  not 

all-"  .        t-         A 

He  stopped  and  his  expression  changed 


have 
I  an 
driv 
"( 
he  \ 
of  h 

day, 
The 
thre 
of  ] 
leas 


elde 

tun 

fatl 

into 

He 

dau 

as  1 

posi 

last 


.tmmMtOKmimmamnH^t^^^-  ■ 


LDA 

e  went  on,  "shall  be 

home    in    England. 

again  become  one  of 
s  in  Scotland.    This 

the  background  of 
all  come  less  as  mas- 
ut  this  is  not  all,"  he  j 

change  of  tone.  "I 
sort,  and  play  no  see- 
to  stand  for  beauty,  I 

I  have  great  dreams, 
earns,  I.  think,  and  I 

carry  them  out.  Our 
:ontinents.  We  must 
you  are  Scotch  and  I 
oth,  in  a  sense  Ameri- 
;  position  and  great 
;  great  opportunities, 
work  which  lies  near- 
irt,  the  unification  in 
the  purposes  of  civili- 
•axon  people.     This  is 

it  can  be  justified.     I 

;  in  New  York— a  very 

we  shall  live  almost  as 

But  even  this  is  not 

lis  expression  changed 


GRISELDA 


235 


from  enthusiasm  to  gravity.  When  he  spoke 
his  tone  was  lower,  and  round  his  mouth 
the  lines  of  determined  purpose  were  more 
marked  and  strong. 

"I  am  going  to  attain  the  end  for  which  I 
have  toiled  as  long  as  I  have  toiled  for  you. 
I  am  going  back  to  the  home  whence  I  was 
driven  out  and  I  am  going  to  make  it  mine. " 

"  Oh ! "  Griselda  breathed.  She  knew  that 
he  was  touching  on  the  most  sacred  subject 
of  his  life. 

"My  brother  Paul  came  to  sec  me  yester- 
day," he  said.  "It  was  a  curious  meeting. 
The  last  time  we  saw  each  other  was  twenty- 
three  years  ago.  I  think  I  played  the  part 
of  Esau  yesterday  with  magnanimity;  at 
least  I  tried  to  do  so." 

"And  was  he  Jacob?" 

"In  some  respects,  though  he  was  the 
elder  son.  He  did  not  supplant  me,  he  only 
turned  me  out  of  doors.  It  was  after  my 
father  and  mother  died  and  he  had  come 
into  Graybum  Hall  and  the  little  property. 
He  had  just  been  married  to  a  parson's 
daughter  from  Enderby.  I  was  spoken  of 
as  having  gone  to  the  devil,  which  I  sup- 
pose was  true.  At  any  rate  I  had  spent  my 
last  shilling.     I  had  gambled  away  the  little 


♦3* 


GRISELDA 


it! 


KM 


t.  Ill 
i'f '  ' 

iil! 
1 1  'I  • 


that  my  father  left  me,  and  one  day  at  Lin- 
coln I  found  myself  literally  without  food 
shelter,  or  a  penny  in  my  pocket     Itjas 
twenty   miles    to    Grayburn    Hall,    and    I 
tramped  it.      It  was    -^-^^^^-^ J^^p^J 
arrived,  and  the  house  was  all  lit  up.     Paul 
aS  his  wife  were  giving  a  little  dinner  the 
first  after  their  marriage.     At  the  door  the 
slJvant  who  opened  to  me  was  curiously 
eSarrassed;   he    had   evidently   received 
orders.     He  would  speak  to  Mr.  Paul,  ^e 
said.     Presently  Mr.  Paul  came  out.      You 
can't  come  in  here,'  were  the  words  with 
which  he  began,  and  the  rest  was  according 
That  tenon     I  crawled  back  to  Lincoln 
more  dead  than  alive,  having  eaten  nothtng 
S^cethedaybefore,andlived^--;^ 
ashes  until  I  received  a  loan  from  Ir   e. 
naid.     Shortly  after  that  an  old  aunt  .  . 
and  left  me  five  hundred  pounds,  with  which 
Twen  to  America.     But  1  have  never  for- 
toTten  Paul,  nor   the   night   when   I  was 
fu^ed  from  my  father's  door  and  the  house 
where  I  was  born. "  , 

♦'How  does  he  seem  now?"  Griselda  asked 
"Rather  gray  and  faded  out.  not  much  of 
a  man.     His  wife,  too,  who  caine  with  him 
iJl  poor  colorless  creature.    They  have  had 


a  g 

dea 

rie< 

ma 

ma 

gbi 

hoi 

of 

Lii 

an< 

Cr 

Gr 

liv 

di( 

as 

st{ 

on 

sic 

wl 

th 
fo 
ca 

bi 
cl 
m 

S£ 


»'] 


*■,  ■# 


LDA 

,  and  one  day  at  Lin- 
terally  without  food, 

my  pocket.  It  was 
yburn  Hall,  and  I 
about    nine  when  I 

was  all  lit  up.  Paul 
ag  a  little  dinner,  the 
age.  At  the  door  the 
to  me  was  curiously 
I  evidently  received 
,eak  to  Mr.  Paul,  he 
>aul  came  out.  'You 
were  the  words  with 
;he  rest  was  according 
jfled  back  to  Lincoln 

having  eaten  nothing 
and  lived  on  dwst «.  A 
I  a  loan  from  Ir  -^  . 
that  an  old  aunt  v  o  > 
red  pounds,  with  which 
But  1  have  never  for- 
e  night  when  I  was 
sr's  door  and  the  house 

a  now?' '  Griselda  asked, 
faded  out,  not  much  of 
)0,  who  came  with  him, 
eature.    They  have  had 


GRISELDA 


237 


! 


a  good  deal  of  trouble.     Their  only  son  is 
dead  and  both  their  daughters  have  mar- 
ried badly,  and  Grayburn  Hall  is  in  the 
market.     The  next  place  to  it  is  also  in  the 
market,  and  the  next  place  to  that.     I  am 
going  to  buy  all  three  and  rebuild  the  old 
house  on  a  splendid  scale,  so  that  the  name 
of  Grayburn  may  take  its  proper  place  in 
Lincolnshire.     I  know  every  hedged  lane 
and  flat  far-reaching  field  from  Grayburn 
Cross  to  Winterby.     It  is  to  be  all  mine, 
Griselda.    The  land  on  which  my  fathers 
lived  is  where  I  shall  live  and  where  I  shall 
die.    You  don't  understand  that  joy  perhaps, 
as  you  said  just  now  that  I  couldn't  under- 
stand your  sorrow,  but  it  is  a  very  living 
one.     It  is  the  passion  of  my  soul— the  pas- 
sion for  the  place  where  I  was  bom  and  to 
which  I  am  going  back  again." 

"I  can  understand  it,"  Griselda  said,  "even 
though  I  cannot  share  it.  I  am  very  glad 
for  your  sake  that  what  you  desire  so  much 
can  be  so  easily  carried  out." 

"Now  let  us  brighten  up  a  little,"  Gray- 
burn said,  with  another  of  his  sudden 
changes.  "These  are  some  of  my  purposes, 
my  first  purposes,  but  not  the  very  first.  I 
said  that  I  would  make  that  proposition  last, 


n 


■i' 


938 


GRISELDA 


i\ 


M,5 

h 


fi 

[*,? 


and  it  is  a  matter  in  which  you  and  Lady 
Phillida  must  decide.  We  are  in  no  hurry 
to  be  married,  are  we?" 

"That  depends  on  you." 

"Well,  I  am  not  quite  ready.  I  want  first 
to  accustom  you  to  the  idea.  I  want  to 
brush  away  the  recollections  of  the  past  few 
months.  After  so  much  strain  we  need  a 
little  pleasure.  Therefore  I  suggest  that  we 
should  all  three  go  away  as  soon  as  possible 
from  cold,  wet  England  and  look  for  change 
and  warmth  in  Italy.  How  does  that  strike 
you?    Or  would  you  prefer  the  Riviera?" 

"No,  not  the  Riviera.  There  would  be 
too  many  people  there.     I  should  like  to  go 

to  Italy." 

"Would  it  really  please  you?" 

"Very  much,  if  Lady  Phillida  would 
come.     I  doubt  that,  however." 

"I  shall  persuade  her,"  Graybum  said 
with  confidence.  "She  is  too  good  a  friend 
in  woe  not  to  stand  by  us  in  weal." 

Griselda  brightened  visibly.  The  sugges- 
tion to  go  abroad  was  like  a  reprieve.  She 
had  no  hope  left  of  ultimate  escape,  but 
even  a  few  weeks'  respite  was  something 

gained. 
They  talked  a  little  longer  of  dates  and 


m 


hich  you  and  Lady 
T^e  are  in  no  hurry 


ready.  I  want  first 
5  idea.  I  want  to 
ions  of  the  past  few 
h  strain  we  need  a 
re  I  suggest  that  we 
r  as  soon  as  possible 
and  look  for  change 
low  does  that  strike 
;fer  the  Riviera?" 
I.  There  would  be 
I  should  like  to  go 

se  you?" 

ady    Phillida    would 

lowever." 

er,"   Graybum  said 

;  is  too  good  a  friend 

us  in  weal." 

risibly.    The  sugges- 

like  a  reprieve.     She 

iltimate  escape,   but 

jpite  was  something 


GRISELDA 


»39 


i 


arrangements  and  routes  of  travel;  and 
when  Graybum  at  last  went  away  the  girl 
was,  if  not  happier,  soothed  and  softenei, 
perhaps  not  reconciled,  but  more  resigned. 
When  left  alone  she  remained  sitting  still, 
watching  the  dying  fire— now  thinking,  now 
praying,  nerving  herself  for  renunciation, 
and  whispering  half  aloud  at  the  thought  of 
her  past  hopes,  "Good-bye,  Good-bye." 


longer  of  dates  and 


I 


%!i 


XIV 

"I  wonder  if  there  is  anyone  here?"  Gray- 
burn  called,  as  he  saw,  in  descending,  the 
drawing-room  door  ajar,  and  pushed  it  open. 

Lady  Phillida  was  there,  sitting  at  a  win- 
dow, looking  into  the  broad  street,  but 
seeing  nothing. 

She  was  passing  through  the  bitterest 
moment  which  her  life  of  ups  and  downs 
had  known.  In  her  fifteen  years  of  widow- 
hood she  had  received  many  a  hard  knock 
from  without;  but  this  was  from  within. 
Neither  sorrow,  slander,  nor  slights  had 
ever  left  her  a  prey  to  her  own  self- 
reproach.  She  had  come  out  of  all  three 
with  head  erect,  and  conscience  clear,  firmer 
and  prouder  and  more  determined  than  ever 
to  do  what  she  thought  right  and  hold 
her  own.  She  had  gone  her  way,  and  had 
prized  her  independence;  if  she  had  had 
any  weakness  it  was  in  what  she  called  her 
knowledge  of  the  world.  Now  her  whole  soul 
lay  bare,  scourged  and  tortured  by  the  sense 
of  having  made  the  most  humiliating  of  all 
240 


jrtiiitiiinBiilWrinii  iniirmririfiwMM 


GRISELDA 


141 


T 


anyone  here?"  Gray- 
,  in  descending,  the 
,  and  pushed  it  open, 
lere,  sitting  at  a  win- 
s    broad  street,    but 

irough  the  bitterest 
3  of  ups  and  downs 
teen  years  of  widow- 
,  many  a  hard  knock 
is  was  from  within, 
ier,  nor  slights  had 
r  to  her  own  self- 
jme  out  of  all  three 
inscience  clear,  firmer 
determined  than  ever 
ight  right  and  hold 
me  her  way,  and  had 
ice;  if  she  had  had 
1  what  she  called  her 
.  Now  her  whole  soul 
tortured  by  the  sense 
ost  humiliating  of  all 


>'illHr<i#» 


mistakes.     She  had  allowed  herself  to  fancy, 
to  believe,  that  a  man  had  cared  for  her,  to 
whom  she  had  been  after  all  nothing  but  a 
useful  assistant  and  from  time  to  time  a 
sympathetic  friend.    In  a  schoolgirl  it  would 
have  been  pitiable;  in  her  it  was  unpardon- 
able    She  had  seen  him  day  by  day,  she 
had  heard  his  words,  she  had  seen  his  looks, 
she  had  taken  note  of  all  the  little  nothings 
by  which  the  heart  betrays  itself,  she  had 
had  every  means  of  judging,  and  yet  she 
had  made  this  mistake. 

She  had  been  not  only  self -deluded,  but 
self-ensnared.      She  had    given    what    she 
thought    she   received.     She    had    allowed 
the  heart  which  she  had  supposed  too  dis- 
illusioned   ever   to   be  deceived    again   to 
respond  to  the  call  which  had  not  been  made 
to  it     She  had  permitted  herself  to  dream 
dreams  and  build  up  hopes;  and  the  knowl- 
edge of  life  on  which  she  grounded  her  pride 
had  counselled  her  nothing.    Neither   the 
age  which  she  avowed  nor  the  experience 
which  she  vaunted  had  saved  her  from  the 
most   crushing  of    all   blows  to  her  self- 
esteem.  ,,       -    J    1. 
How  had  it  been  possible?    How  had  she 

been  so  self -deceived? 


tm 


GRISELDA 


With  cheeks  flaming,  and  hard  gray  eyes 
staring  vacantly  into  the  street  she  went 
back  over  the  path  which  had  brought  her 
to  this  moment  of  mortification  and  folly. 
She  remembered  the  first  meeting  with 
Grayburn  on  the  lawn  at  Lomond  Lodge 
when  she  had  not  had  the  chance  to  do  more 
than  speak  to  him.  She  remembered  her 
satisfaction  when  on  the  same  evening  he 
had  been  appointed  to  take  her  to  dinner. 
She  had  been  curious  as  to  him,  he  sus- 
picious as  to  her. 

The  details  of  their  conversation  returned 
to  her,  and  she  recalled  her  sense  of  pleasure 
in  having  again  met  one  whom  she  knew  to 
be  a  man,  so  different  from  the  carpet- 
knights  who  annoyed  her  with  their  atten- 
tions and  the  wealthy  mercantile  widowers 
who  offered  her  their  hands.  Here  was  a 
man  who  had  really  lived  and  was  ready  to 
live  on,  who  had  done  much  and  would  do 
more,  who  had  seen  good  days  and  evil,  who 
had  drunk  sweet  wine  and  bitter,  and  who 
was  more  than  ever  eager,  vigorous,  and 
virile,  full  of  fire  and  hope.  Strong  but  not 
stupid,  simple  but  inscrutable,  self-centred 
perhaps  but  not  precisely  selfish,  he  was  to 
Lady  Phillida  the  very  type  of  the  master- 


r  -* 


LDA 

and  hard  gray  eyes 
he  street  she  went 
ich  had  brought  her 
rtification  and  folly. 

first  meeting  with 
1  at  Lomond  Lodge 
he  chance  to  do  more 
he  remembered  her 
he  same  evening  he 

take  her  to  dinner. 
,  as  to  him,  he  sus- 

;onversation  returned 
her  sense  of  pleasure 
e  whom  she  knew  to 
at  from  the  carpet- 
her  with  their  atten- 
mercantile  widowers 

hands.     Here  was  a 
red  and  was  ready  to 

much  and  would  do 
od  days  and  evil,  who 

and  bitter,  and  who 
eager,  vigorous,  and 
lope.  Strong  but  not 
crutable,  self-centred 
sely  selfish,  he  was  to 
y  type  of  the  master- 


GRISELDA 


«43 


man  who  hews  his  way  through  circum- 
stance.   To  him  a  proud  woman  could  abne- 
gate her  pride  and  submit  her  independence. 
After    the    evening    at    Ascot,  and   the 
moment    which    they    jestingly  called   the 
Earthquake,  he  and  she  had  been  drawn 
together  by  a  common  care  and  a  common 
interest.     Griselda,  though  the  most  impor- 
tant figure  in  their  group,  gradually  fell  mto 
the  background,   and  they  two  undertook 
together   the    management  of   her   cause. 
Graybum  came  soon  to  ask  Lady  Philhda's 
advice  and  to  depend  upon  her  help.    Where 
he  brought  determination  she  added  tact; 
and  his  forcefulness  of  action  was  refined 
and  perfected  by  her  knowledge  of  social 
detail  and  dignified    procedure.      He  lent 
himself  to  her  influence,  and  submitted  to 
her  charm.     He  was  at  once  an  apt  pupil 
and  a  dominant  director,  learning  what  she 
had  to  teach,  but  subjecting  her  to  his  will. 
Their  intercourse  had  always  been  frank, 
simple,  and  straightforward,  always  natural 
and  necessary  under  the  circumstances  lu 
which  they  found  themselves.     Their  con- 
versation had  turned  not  on  hearts,  but  on 
practical  matters  of  law.     If  then  there  had 
been  a  mistake.  Lady  Phillida  admitted,  the 


944 


GRISELDA 


fault  was  not  his.  He  had  done  nothing  and 
said  nothing  to  mislead  her.  He  had  only 
looked  into  her  eyes  with  that  steel-blue 
gaze  of  mingled  comprehension  and  compul- 
sion which  she  had  taken  as  meaning  some- 
thing else.  Now  she  could  almost  laugh  out 
in  scorn  of  her  own  fatuity.  She  felt  as  if 
she  must  tell  the  tale  abroad,  publishing  it 
as  a  bitter  joke  against  herself. 

She  heard  his  footstep  as  he  descended 
from  Griselda's  room.  She  wished  he  would 
come  in.  She  wanted  to  see  him,  to  come 
face  to  face  with  him,  to  defy  her  own 
weakness,  to  prove  to  herself  how  little 
cause  she  had  for  such  egregious  error. 

"Yes,  come  in,"  she  said  at  once,  as 
Graybum  entered.  "Do  come  here  and 
look  at  this  grotesque  monkey  begging  for 
his  organ-grinder." 

"Am  I  bothering  you?"  he  asked  as  he 
cast  an  indifferent  glance  into  the  street, 
and  then  sat  down  on  the  broad  window- 
seat,  close  beside  her  chair. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  she   answered  with 
that  air   of    briskness  which  practice  had 
made  it  easy  to  assume.     "I  was    doing 
nothing— only  thinking." 
"Pleasant  thoughts,  I  hope?" 


IMiMMtWWWI 


iiMaiiiiwii 


LDA 

id  done  nothing  and 
her.  He  had  only 
^ith  that  steel-blue 
[lension  and  compul- 
m  as  meaning  some- 
uld  almost  laugh  out 
uity.  She  felt  as  if 
ibroad,  publishing  it 
herself. 

:ep  as  he  descended 
She  wished  he  would 
to  see  him,  to  come 
1,  to  defy  her  own 
>  herself  how  little 
egregious  error, 
le  said  at  once,  as 
Do  come  here  and 
monkey  begging  for 

3U?"  he  asked  as  he 
mce  into  the  street, 
the  broad  window- 
hair, 
she   answered  with 
which  practice  had 
ime.     "I  was    doing 

r." 

I  hope?" 


GRISELDA 


»4$ 


• '  Mixed.  At  my  age  the  honey  has  always 
a  little  taste  of  wormwood. " 

"And  at  mine,"  he  said,  "we  are  only  too 
thankful  when  the  wormwood  has  a  little 
taste  of  honey. " 

"Oh,  you  have  eaten  your  blackbread 
before  the  white,  as  the  French  say.  That 
is  the  best  of  all  good  fortune.  With  most 
of  us  it  is  the  reverse.  Of  all  the  men  I 
know  you  are  the  most  to  be  congratulated." 

"I've  come  for  congratulations " 

"Yes,  I  know,  Griselda  has  just  told  me." 
"And  what  do  you  say?" 
His  keen  eyes  were  on  her  and  a  half 
smile  was  playing  round  his  lips.  She 
forced  herself  to  meet  his  gaze  with  her 
own  frankest  and  steadiest  regard.  The 
slight  tremor  in  her  voice  was  not  more  than 
the  occasion  justified. 

"What  does  one  say  when  the  man  one 
honors  most  marries  the  woman  one  loves 
more  than  any  other  in  the  world?  You 
know  what  I  wish  you  both  before  I  utter 

it."  ,       . 

"Yes,  I  do  know,"  he  said  softly,  leanmg 
towards  her  and  taking  in  his  hand  the 
tassel  of  her  long  silken  girdle.  "No  one 
ever  had  a  friend  like  you." 


•^»*. 


m 
Mi 

m 


SiH" 


\% 


itifl.' 


f| 


'{If 


346 


GRISELDA 


"Don't  say  that,"  she  pleaded,  fearing  to 
lose  her  self-control.  She  could  endure 
indifference,  but  not  that  gentle,   earnest 

tone. 

"I  will  say  it,"  he  persisted.  "The  time 
has  come  when  we  must  thank  you.  No, 
not  precisely  that.  One  does  not  thank 
another  when  one  owes  a  debt  like  ours  to 

you." 

"You  owe  me  nothing,  nothing  at  all," 
she  said  hastily.     "I  beg  you  not  to  say  so. " 

"We  will  not  dispute  about  words  and 
terms.     The   essential  only  is  important." 

"There  is  no  essential " 

"On  your  side  perhaps.  But  on  mine 
there  is  that  which  is  essential  and  all-con- 
sequential  " 

"You  forget  that  what  little  I  have  done 
I  had  to  do.  I  am  like  the  unprofitable 
servant;  it  was  my  duty;  and  I  have 
received  my  fee." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  so  much  of  what 
you've  done  for  us  as  of  what  you've  been 

to  us." 

"Ah,  there  the  discussion  is  on  my  own 
ground.  I  admit  that  for  conscious  actions, 
thanks  more  or  less  formal,  or  more  or  less 
heartfelt,  are  in  order,  if  not  positively  due. 


Bi 

at 
Ir 
b< 

sc 

a 

ti 

a 

A 

it 

st 

St 

g 
n 

s] 
o 

tl 

0 

c 

1( 

ii 

V 

a 
r 


»*aiS|ll!ai!«*«BM»WH«ai«B 


5LDA 

le  pleaded,  fearing  to 

She    could    endure 

that  gentle,   earnest 

)ersisted.  "The  time 
lust  thank  you.  No, 
One  does  not  thank 
es  a  debt  like  ours  to 

liing,  nothing  at  all," 
jeg  you  not  to  say  so. " 
lUte  about  words  and 
,1  only  is  important." 

:ial •• 

jrhaps.     But  on  mine 
essential  and  all-con- 

vhat  little  I  have  done 

like  the   unprofitable 

iT    duty;     and    I    have 

ig    so   much    of    what 
s  of  what  you've  been 

scussion  is  on  my  own 
it  for  conscious  actions, 
formal,  or  more  or  less 
r,  if  not  positively  due. 


GRISELDA 


'47 


But  for  what  one  is  one  deserves  no  thanks 
at  all.  What  one  is,  one  is  unconsciously. 
In  giving  of  oneself  one  gives  without  effort, 

because  one  cannot  help  oneself " 

"I  am  not  speaking  generally  or  philo- 
sophically," Grayburn  said,  quietly  putting 
a  stop  to  her  attempt  to  lead  the  conversa- 
tion away  from  herself.  "I  am  speaking  of 
a  particular  case  and  a  very  special  person. 
And  yet  I  am  only  groping  my  way,  as 
it  were.  I  am  trying  to  find  out  where  I 
stand  and  what  I  ought  to  do.  Let  me 
state  the  case.  When  a  woman  of  high  rank, 
great  beauty,  and  the  ablest  and  noblest 
mind " 

"If  you  mean  me,"  she  laughed,  trying  to 
speak  flippantly,  "that  has  been  said  so 
often  by  callow  gentlemen  from  Oxford, 
that  it  soimds  now  like  the  prelude  to  an 
old-fashioned  song." 

"Perhaps  it  is  an  old-fashioned  song,"  he 
continued  with  the  same  quiet  earnestness, 
looking  up  into  her  eyes,  "but  I  mean  to  sing 
it  to  the  end.  When  this  lady  gives  me  help 
when  I  need  it,  friendship  when  I  stand 
alone,  trust  when  very  few  believe  in 
me 

"Then  you  take  it  as  a  wedding  present," 


n. 


•ilH- 


^? , 


w 

'•V 
,ll 

5?;. 


048 


GRISELDA 


she  said,  springing  up;  turning  l^er  back  on 
him  she  began  to  poke  the  fire  vigorously. 
•'There,  there,"  she  cried,  "you've  said 
enough  and  to  spare.  When  I  want  a  reward 
for  my  services  I  will  let  you  know  what  it 
is.    Meantime  I  can  think  it  over  dunng  my 

^°''What  holiday?"  he  asked,  rising  and  fol- 
lowing her  to  the  fire-place. 

"I  feel  something  like  an  old  nurse,  she 
said  -from  whom  they  are  taking  her  baby. 
I  can't  look  for  another  place  just  yet.  1 
mean  to  take  a  rest. " 

"I've  thought  of  that,"  he  said. 

"That's  kind.    Perhaps  you  mean  to  give 
me  an  extra  week's  wages  with  my  char- 

^'"No,  but  I  thought  you  might  like  to  stay 
on  and  make  a  little  visit  in  the  family. 
"Quite  like  one  of  themselves,  I  suppose 

you  mean?" 

"Oh  no,  a  great  deal  better. 

-I  fear  the  metaphor  is  getting  beyond 
me,"  she  said,  putting  the  poker  back  into 
Tts  place,  and  dusting  the  tips  of  her  fingers 
one  against  the  other. 

"Figures  of  speech  are  likely  to  be 
indefinite,"  he  rejoined,  "and  so  I  will  come 


t 
t 


r 


iiii!iiiWW»ii'''Wirif>n 


LDA 

turning  her  back  on 
e  the  fire  vigorously. 

cried,  "you've  said 
\nien  I  want  a  reward 
let  you  know  what  it 
Ink  it  over  during  my 

asked,  rising  and  fol- 

place. 

ike  an  old  nurse,"  she 

y  are  taking  her  baby. 

her  place  just  yet.     I 

at,"  he  said, 
haps  you  mean  to  give 
wages  with  my  char- 

you  might  like  to  stay 
nsit  in  the  family." 
themselves,  I  suppose 

,al  better." 

Dhor  is  getting  beyond 
ig  the  poker  back  into 
g  the  tips  of  her  fingers 

r. 

ech    are   likely   to   be 

led,  "and  so  I  will  come 


GRISELDA 


349 


to  facts.     I   think  you  and  Griselda  both 
need  a  change.     I  propose  to  carry  you  off 

to  Italy."  ^      .  ^ 

"I  couldn't  possibly  go,"  she  said  with 

decision. 

"Why  not?" 

"First  because  I  am  under  a  vow  neither 
to  eat  bread  nor  drink  water,  so  to  speak, 
until  I  have  been  seen  in  half  a  dozen 
different  country  houses,  all  the  way  between 
here  and  York." 

"That's  no  reason,"  he  said.  "You've 
put  off  visits  of  that  sort " 

"Until  they  can  be  put  off  no  longer," 

"That  doesn't  weigh  with  me  at  all." 

"Nor  with  me,"  she  avowed  with  a  frank 
laugh,  as  though  she  had  nothing  whatever 
to  conceal.  "My  true  reason  is  that  a  sort 
of  mother-in-law  on  a  honeymoon,  as  I 
should  be,  is  always  in  the  way. " 

"It  isn't  to  be  a  honeymoon,  at  least  not 
at  first.  Griselda  doesn't  want  to  be  mar- 
ried yet;  and  I  myself  feel  that  the  wedding 
would  come  best  just  before  our  return  to 
England.  So  your  true  reason  also  is  an 
insuflBcient  one. " 

* '  But  I  have  a  truer  reason  still. " 
"Which  is?" 


^^^g^fffis>(ffii^im\iiiafmfmiM%^'^ 


f  1 

Ett 


ajo  GRISELDA 

"You  had  really  better  take  no  for  an 
answer,  with  my  most  grateful  thanks,"  she 
said,  laughing,  and  beginning  to  re-arrange 
the  objects  on  the  mantel-piece. 

"That  has  never  been  my  policy  in  life, 
and  least  of  all  just  now. 

"You  persist  in  probing  the  very  secrets 

of  my  heart?" 

"I  do."  .  ^,     .     . 

"Then,  I  can't  accept  your  amiable  invi- 
tation because  I  don't  want  to  go. " 

Grayburn  said  nothing,  and  so  she  turned 
apd  looked  at  him.  For  the  first  time  since 
she  had  known  him  he  had  the  air  of  being 

hurt.  .    J    r       Ml, 

"You  mean  that  you  are  tired  of  us,     ne 

said  at  last. 
"Not  exactly." 
"Then  what?" 

"Only  that  the  best  of  friends  must  part. 
"Not  in  every  case." 
"Perhaps  not  in  every  case,  but  certainly 

in  this." 

"I  fail  to  see  why." 

"Hasn't  it  occurred  to  your  mind  that 
when  Griselda  is  married  to  you  she  will  no 
longer  have  need  of  me?" 

"It  hasii't,"  he  said  simply.    "On  the 


'Mi 


"T 


DA 


»r  take  no  for  an 

ateful  thanks,"  she 

ming  to  re-arrange 

l-piece. 

I  my  policy  in  life, 

t  * 

ng  the  very  secrets 


your  amiable  invi- 
antto  go." 
y,  and  so  she  turned 
■  the  first  time  since 
lad  the  air  of  being 

are  tired  of  us,"  he 


f  friends  must  part." 
y  case,  but  certainly 

to  your  mind  that 
ed  to  you  she  will  no 

;?" 

d  simply.    "On  the 


GRISELDA 


asi 


contrary  neither  Griselda  noi  I  could  do 
without  you." 

•'That's  nonsense.  Please  don't  say  it. 
It  is  so  ridiculous  that  it  almost  hurts  me." 

"Besides  Griselda  and  I  are  not  married 
yet.     I  never  thought  that  you  would  leave 

us  before " 

"I  couldn't  go  traveling.  I  might  stay 
with  her  here;  I  mean  she  might  stay  with 
me.     But  I  couldn't  go  with  you " 

Lady  Phillida  stopped  suddenly.  She 
was  almost  betraying  herself,  and  certainly 
showing  moral  cowardice.  There  was  no 
reason  why  she  should  not  go  to  Italy.  The 
only  motive  for  saying  no  was  fear— fear  to 
meet  this  man,  fear  of  being  with  him  day 
by  day  fear  of  his  outspoken  appreciation, 
fear  of  the  torture  of  his  friendship.  It  was 
a  new  accusation  of  self;  a  fresh  humilia- 
tion^- .,  ^  1- 
"Then  we  will  not  go,"  said  Graybum. 

"Griselda  will  be  disappointed. 

Then  something  else  awoke  in  Lady  Phil- 
lida—the  almost  maternal  love  for  the  girl 
whom  she  would  sacrifice  to  the  impulse 
to  find  secrecy  and  shelter  for  herself.  She 
saw  what  this  journey  would  mean  to 
Griselda,    a   relief,    a   breathing   space,  a 


■MtnMHiKaa 


if* 


GRISELDA 


moment  for  preparation;  and  who  could  tell 

what  else? 

" I'll  go, "  she  said  to  herself.  It  will  be 
like  eating  ashes  as  it  were  bread,  but  I've 
done  that  before.      Cost  what  it  will,  I'll 

go." 
"Of  course,  if  Griselda  would  be  hurt  if  I 

didn't  go,  I  might " 

"Do  for  her  sake  what  you  would  not  do 

for  mine." 

Lady  Phillida's  eyes  flashed. 

"Is  it  fair  to  say  that?"  she  asked. 

"It  is  if  I  feel  it,"  he  answered  simply. 

"Haven't  I  given  proofs "  she  began. 

"Yes  and  no,"  he  interrupted.    "When 
one  feels  as  I  do  there  are  never  proofs 

enough." 

"You  are  hard  to  satisfy." 

"Because  I  have  a  great  hunger." 

"For  what,  pray?" 

"For  the  unknown." 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  getting  out  of  your 

depth." 

"But  I  can  swim." 

"I  can't,"  she  said  laconically.  "So  let 
us  return  to  dry  land.  It  is  safest  there. 
The  particular  land  of  which  we  were 
speaking  was  Italy,  was  it  not?" 


LDA 

;  and  who  could  tell 

herself.  "It  will  be 
vere  bread,  but  I've 
>st  what  it  will,  I'll 

la  would  be  hurt  if  I 

t 

at  you  would  not  do 

flashed. 

:?"  she  asked. 

J  answered  simply. 

oofs "  she  began. 

interrupted.    "When 
jre  are  never  proofs 

tisfy." 

reat  hunger." 

» 

e  getting  out  of  your 

laconically.  "So  let 
1     It  is  safest  there. 

of  which  we  were 
as  it  not?" 


GRISELDA 


253 


' '  Italy  or  elsewhere,  so  long  as  you  come. 

••And  if  I  don't?" 

••Then  we  shall  not  go,  as  I  have  already 

said."  . 

••It  is  absurd  to  make  your  actions  de- 
pendent upon  mine." 

•'The  seasons  are  always  dependent  on 

the  sun." 

'  ••The  fact  is,"  said  Lady  Phillida  with  the 
practical  air  of  stating  the  situation,  •'that 
you  and  Griselda  have  a  fancy  for  taking  a 
sort  of  pre-nuptial  wedding  trip. " 
•'That  is  true  as  far  as  it  goes." 
•'And  you  are  in  search  of  some  one  who 
will  satisfy  the  social  demands  of  the  situ- 
ation." 
"Bringing  us  up  to  the  perfect  number, 

three." 

••Then  as  an  act  of  charity " 

••Charity  is  always  the  blessed  third  with 
Faith  and  Hope,  and  if  I  remember  rightly, 
the  greatest  of  all." 

"And  may  I  ask  which  grace  you  imper- 
sonate yourself?" 

"I  clearly  stand  for  Hope;  because  I 
know  that  we  three  are  to  be  as  inseparable 
as  the  graces  of  St.  Paul." 

••I  should  rather  call  that  Faith,  on  the 


254 


GRISELDA 


definition  that  faith  is  believing  what  you 
know  isn't  true," 

"Then  I  shall  be  Faith.  I  will  play  as 
many  parts  as  Bottom  the  Weaver,  if  only 
you  will  not  leave  us." 

"I  will  not  leave  you  to  the.  extent  of 
going  to  Italy  with  you,  and  at  the  wedding 
giving  the  bride  away.  When  that  is  done 
I  shall  consider  my  role  of  Charity  at  an 

end." 

"Charity  never  faileth,"  he  said,  lookmg 
half  grateful,  half  triumphant.  "I  knew 
you  wouldn't  fail  us,  and  you  haven't  and 
you  won't.  Give  me  your  hand  upon  it;  for 
I  end  where  I  began  in  saying  that  no  man 
ever  had  a  friend  like  you." 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  Lady  Phillida  when 
he  went  away.  Skilled  as  she  was  in  social 
dissimulation  the  air  of  banter  had  been 
difficult  to  maintain,  and  before  his  expres- 
sions of  sincere,  almost  affectionate,  regard 
her  spirit  quailed. 

"How  can  I  keep  it  up?"  she  asked  herself 
as  the  street  door  closed  behind  him.  "I 
must,"  she  went  on  with  clenched  teeth. 
'  •  For  Griselda'  s  sake,  I  must. ' ' 

Then  slowly,  with  the  gait  of  a  tired 
woman  from  whom  all  courage  and  buoy- 


ilLDA 

3  believing  what  you 

■i"aith.  I  will  play  as 
a  the  Weaver,  if  only 

» 

you  to  the.  extent  of 
u,  and  at  the  wedding 
.  When  that  is  done 
role  of  Charity  at  an 

eth,"  he  said,  looking 
riumphant.  "I  knew 
,  and  you  haven't  and 
your  hand  upon  it;  for 
in  saying  that  no  man 
you." 

E  to  Lady  Phillida  when 
led  as  she  was  in  social 
r  of  banter  had  been 
and  before  his  expres- 
ost  aflEectionate,  regard 

t  up?"  she  asked  herself 
losed  behind  him.  "I 
I  with  clenched  teeth. 
,  I  must." 

li    the  gait  of   a  tired 
all  courage  and  buoy- 


GRISELDA 


m 


ancy  is  gone,  she  dragged  herself  upstairs  to 
Griselda's  door. 

She  knocked,  but  there  was  no  answer. 
Entering  the  sitting  room  she  found  it 
empty.  Crossing  to  where  the  bed-room 
door  stood  open,  she  saw  the  girl  within 
kneeling  at  hftr  prayer  desk,  above  which 
hung  a  great,  white,  ivory  crucifix. 

Griselda  turned  at  the  sound  of  the  foot- 
step, but  before  she  had  time  to  rise,  Lady 
Phillida  was  at  her  side. 

Then  clinging  to  each  other,  and  with 
convulsive  sobs,  they  continued  to  kneel  on 
together  before  the  thorn-crowned  figure  on 

the  Cross. 
And  yet  the  little  dinner  that  night  was 

very  bright. 

"I  will  show  Griselda  how  to  do  it,"  Lady 
Phillida  had  said  to  herself  during  the  day. 
"I'll  show  hef  how  our  soldiers  go  singing 
and  smiling  into  battle,  till  the  smile  is  fixed 
and  the  song  forever  silenced  by  the  first 
stray  bullet.  She  is  too  young  yet  to  know 
that  a  woman's  pluck  is  often  in  being  most 
radiant  and  gay  just  at  the  moment  when 
some  great  fear  is  eating  all  the  happiness 
out  of  her  life,  or  her  heart  is  in  process  of 
breaking.    She  will  see  and  learn  to-night." 


a56 


GRISELDA 


So  without  the  aid  of  artifice,  with  checks 
glowing  with  the  excitement  of  the  struggle, 
and  with  eyes  sparkling  with  the  fire  of  the 
dominant  will  within,  Lady  Phillida  renewed 
that  night  the  beauty  which  had  scarcely 
begun  to  wane.    She  purposely  made  herself 
as  gorgeous  as  an  exquisite  taste  would  let 
her,  arraying  herself  in  brilliant  white,  with 
touches  of  silver  and  pale  green,  and  deck- 
ing herself  with  diamonds  and  emeralds  on 
neck  and  wrists  and  hands.     Griselda,  in 
black  with  pearls,  offered  to  Lady  Phillida 
the  contrast  of  shade  to  sunlight,  and  of 
dignified    youth   to    magnificent    maturity. 
Grayburn  had  the  air  of  a  man  with  whom 
all  was  going  well.     For  him  it  was  one  of 
those  rare  moments  when  a  man  admits  to 
himself  that  his  success  is  complete,  that  his 
happiness  has  no  flaw  in  it.    Never  counting 
what  the  attainment  of  his  purpose  cost 
himself  he  counted  still  less  what  it  cost  to 
others.      Griselda  and  Lady  Phillida  had 
accepted  his  yoke  and  had  bent  to  his  will; 
with  what  amount  of  effort  it  never  occurred 
to  him  to  enquire.     He  did  not    seek  to 
know;  he  would  not  have  understood  if  he 
had  known. 
Lady  Phillida's  poverty  was  not  inconsis- 


teti 
inl 
wii 
bri 
ad 
re( 
th( 
foi 
re 

Wi 

he 
h( 

w 

oi 

p' 

ei 
h 
ti 

0 
V 

a 
I 
I 
( 
1 


ELDA 

of  artifice,  with  checks 
tement  of  the  struggle, 
ng  with  the  fire  of  the 
Lady  Phillida  renewed 
ty  which  had  scarcely 
purposely  made  herself 
cquisite  taste  would  let 
in  brilliant  white,  with 

pale  green,  and  deck- 
aonds  and  emeralds  on 
i  hands.  Griselda,  in 
BEered  to  Lady  Phillida 
ie  to  sunlight,  and  of 

magnificent    maturity. 
lir  of  a  man  with  whom 
For  him  it  was  one  of 
;  when  a  man  admits  to 
ess  is  complete,  that  his 
Y  in  it.    Never  counting 
It  of  his  purpose  cost 
still  less  what  it  cost  to 
md  Lady  Phillida  had 
,nd  had  bent  to  his  will; 
f  effort  it  never  occurred 
He  did  not    seek  to 
t  have  understood  if  he 

loverty  was  not  inconsis- 


GRISELDA 


'57 


tent  with  the  possession  of  much  beautiful 
inherited  silver,  exquisite  china,  and  fine  old 
wines.     The  dinner  was  excellent,  the  talk 
bright.     Grayburn  told  amusing  stories  of 
adventures    in     the  west;     Lady    Phillida 
recounted  experiences  still  more  amusing  of 
the  social  world  of  London;  while  Griselda 
found  again  her  almost   forgotten  gift  of 
repartee.     To  her  Lady  PhiUida's  courage 
was  heroic;  it  at  once  shamed  and  excited 
her  own.     In  her  friend's  phrase,  she  saw 
how  it  was  done  and  did  it. 

"But,"  she  said  to  herself  as  the  laugh 
went  round,  "was  there  ever  a  greater  proof 
of  the  superiority  of  man?    Here  are  we  two 
poor  women,  nominally  free  and  independ- 
ent,  from  whom  this  man  has  taken  all;  he 
has  tied  us  to  his  chariot  wheels  and  rides 
triumphantly  on,  indifferent  to,  unconscious 
of,  our  suffering.    And  yet  we  dare  not  even 
weep.     On  the  contrary,  we  feast  him,  and 
amuse  him,  and  hide  our  tears  with  hollow 
laughter.    We  try  to  make  him  thmk  that 
not  only  do  we  do  his  will,  but  that  we 
do  it  willingly,   and    all  because  he  is  a 

man." 

Still,  she  did  not  rebel;  she  had  not  even 
the  courage  to  go  on  with  the  complaint. 


,ISi«M»M*rrn<waa^- 


'58 


GRISELDA 


At  a  certain  moment  Grayburn  raised  his 

glass  and  proposed  the  health  of  the  most 

modest  of  living  maidens,  the  Countess  of 

Lomond.     He  and  Lady  Phillida  drank  it 

standing.     Then  Griselda  rose  and  made  a 

little  speech,  ending  by  asking  all  present  to 

rise  with  her  and  drink  the  health  of  the 

best  of  women  and  the  stanchest  of  friends, 

Lady  Phillida  Wimpole.     Lady  Phillida  also 

spoke  and  asked  the  Countess  of  Lomond 

to  join  with  her  in   toasting  one  who  was 

inclined    to    use    towards   them  a    giant's 

tyranny  with  a  giant's  strength,   Mr.  Bo- 

tolph    Grayburn.      Mr.   Botolph    Grayburn 

made  no  reply  to  this,  but  gave  a  signal  to 

a  servant.     In  response  the  man  brought 

forward  and  placed  before  Grayburn  a  large 

leathern  casket.     There  was  a  moment  of 

iolemn  silence  and  suspense.    Then  opening 

it  he    displayed  a   Countess's   coronet   in 

splendid  jewels. 

The  thing  was  so  beautiful,  flashing  in  the 
light,  that  neither  of  the  women  could 
repress  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and 
admiration. 

Grayburn  rose  and  placed  it  lightly  on 
Griselda's  head,  who  sat  now  quite  still  and 
white,  her  heart  beating  wildly  with  mingled 


excit« 

kisse« 

Wl 


ing  < 

lanotl 

Isimil 

"S 

Tl 

its  ci 

lonli 

'I 

this 

H 

,eyes 

Iwas 

L 


ELDA 

It  Grayburn  raised  his 
he  health  of  the  most 
idens,  the  Countess  of 
,ady  Phillida  drank  it 
selda  rose  and  made  a 
)y  asking  all  present  to 
rink  the  health  of  the 
le  stanchest  of  friends 
)le.  Lady  Phillida  also 
s  Countess  of  Lomond 

toasting  one  who  was 
wards  them  a  giant's 
tit's  strength,  Mr.  Bo- 
iv.  Botolph  Grayburn 
is,  but  gave  a  signal  to 
onse  the  man  brought 
sefore  Grayburn  a  large 
lere  was  a  moment  of 
uspense.    Then  opening 

Countess's   coronet   in 


GRISELDA 


*$f 


beautiful,  flashing  in  the 

of   the    women    could 

ation    of    surprise    and 


id  placed  it  lightly  on 
)  sat  now  quite  still  and 
ting  wildly  with  mingled 


excitement  and  pain.    Then  he  stooped  and 
kissed  her  gently  on  the  brow. 

While  Lady  Phillida  fastened  the  glitter- 
ing ornament  in  its  place,  Grayburn  gave 
another  signal.  Another  casket  was  brought 

similar  to  the  first.  „^.,,.j 

"Sit  down,"  he  said  to  Lady  Phillida. 
Then  taking  a  superb  diamond  tiara  from 

lits  case  he  leaned  towards  her  and  placed  it 

on  her  hair. 
"I  want  you,"  he  whispered,  "to  accept 

Ithis  with  my " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  their 
eyes  met.  What  the  omitted  word  was  she 
was  left  to  guess. 

Later  in  the  evenmg,  when  Grayburn  had 
Igone,  Lady  Phillida  and  Griselda  stood 
Lking  at  each  other  half -mockingly,  half- 
admiringly.  Just  then  Ellis  brought  a  leUer 
which  had  arrived  some  time  before.  It  was 
addressed  to  the  Right  Honorable  the 
Countess  of  Lomond,  and  was  postmarked, 
Tunbridge  Wells. 

Griselda  took  it,  turned  it  round,  looked 

lat  the   coronet  in    gold  on  the    envelope, 

and  then  opened  it.     It  was  dated  from 

Rusthall  Court  that  morning. 

"Lady  Glenorchie,"  the  letter  ran,    pre- 


a6o 


GRISELDA 


sents  her  compliments  to  Lady  Lomond, 
and  begs  the  favor  of  an  interview  on  any 
day  this  week  in  the  afternoon. " 

Griselda  read  it  twice  and  then  handed  it 
to  Lady  Phillida. 

"I  will  not  see  her,"  the  girl  said. 

"You  must,"  the  answer  came. 


V 

Lo< 
We 
hot 


hei 
ou; 
fel 

ou 

sc 
re 


G 

01 

aj 
tl 
n 
t< 

8 


!LDA 


ts  to   Lady  Lomond, 
an  interview  on  any 
"ternoon. ' ' 
e  and  then  handed  it 

'  the  girl  said, 
swev  came.        < 


XV 

When  Lady  Glenorchie  le^  Lojnand 
Lodge  for  her  own  house  at  Tunbndge 
Wells  it  was  with  proud  outward  calm,  but 
hot  inward  indignation.  t,.  c«i^  to 

-We  are  not  running  away,"  she  sa  d  to 
her  son  "we  are  only  leaving  a  fair  field  to 
our  Opponent."  And  yet  in  her  heart  she 
felt  that  it  wag  flight. 

"We  shall  come  back,"  she  said,  with 
our  right  established  beyond  question.' 

And  yet  she  was  secretly,  almost  uncon- 
sciously,  convinced  that  they  should  never 

''Twas  part  of  her  tmwilling  tribute  to 
Griselda,that  in  spite  of  herself  Lady  Glen- 
orchie admitted  the  girl's  rectitude,  cour- 
age  and  good  sense.     The  hostility  between 
tfe%.wo  had  had  from  the  first  its  root  in 
mutual  appreciation.     If  Griselda  on  going 
to  Lomond  Lodge,  could  have  analyzed  what 
she  felt  she  would  have  said : 
••Here  is  an  hereditary,   fastidious   ele- 
261 


IPiiJliBi'i^i'^""*'*'''"''**'^'"'^"  "^' 


a69 


GRISELDA 


gance  before  which  I  must  always  seem  new 
and  crude,  and  whose  esteem  I  can  never 
conquer." 

Lady  Glenorchie  had  she  gone  beneath 
her  gentle  haughtiness  and  avowed  what 
she  saw  there  would  have  said: 

"Here  is  a  youth  and  a  poise  and  a  cer- 
tainty of  self  before  which  I  must  seem 
faded,  and  which  will  push  me  "-ito  the 
background." 

It  was  like  the  modern  face  to  face  with 
the  out-of-date,  or  the  New  World  confront- 
ing the  Old.     The  bitterest  drop  of  gall 
which  Lady  Glenorchie  was  compelled   to 
drink  lay  therefore  in  the  fact  that  the  cup 
was    forced    on    her   by    Griselda's  hand. 
From  any  one  else  she  could  have  better 
borne  it.     That  she  carried  herself  with  dig- 
nity, that  the  tact  and  grace  she  displayed 
in  a  most  difficult  situaLion  were  praised 
throughout  the  Three  Kingdoms,  that  public 
sympathy  was  strongly  with  her  son  and  her 
even  after  it  was  also  extended  to  Griselda, 
neither  concealed  nor  consoled  Lady  Glen- 
orchie's   own    sense    of    humiliation    and 

defeat.    It  was  the  first  great  personal  shock 

which  her  protected  life  had  experienced; 

it  was  the  first  time  that  the  hand  of  cir- 


ott 
an 

wc 
tic 
sp 
pa 
wi 
wl 

g« 
m 
a 


LDA 

ist  always  seem  new 
esteem  I  can  never 

i  she  gone  beneath 
i  and  avowed  what 
ve  said: 

d  a  poise  and  a  cer- 
vhich  I  must  seem 
,  push  me  'uto  the 

rn  face  to  face  with 
JTew  World  confront- 
tterest  drop  of  gall 
e  was  compelled   to 
the  fact  that  the  cup 
by    Griselda's  hand, 
e  could  have  better 
Tied  herself  with  dig- 
grace  she  displayed 
tuaLion  were  praised 
kingdoms,  that  public 
with  her  son  and  her 
extended  to  Griselda, 
consoled  Lady  Glen- 
of    humiliation    and 
t  great  personal  shock 
life  had  experienced; 
that  the  hand  of  cir- 


GRISELDA 


a63 


cumstance    had   been    roughly   laid   upon 

her. 

She  did  her  best  to  think  and  to  make 
others  think  that  to  a  house  like  hers  even 
an  ancient  earldom  and  great  wealth  could 
give  no  increase  of  honor;  they  were  like 
works  of  art  added  to  an  already  vast  collec- 
tion,   acceptable    but    not    essential.      She 
spoke  freely  on  the  subject,  and  in  any  com- 
pany—simply,   without    sensitiveness,    but 
with    no  affectation  of    indifference.      Her 
whole  outward  carriage  was  that  of  a  woman 
gentle,   serene,    and  highly -bred.      If  she 
made  any  change  whatever  it  was  in  going 
a  little  more  into  the  world.     Exalted  sym- 
pathy had    commanded    her   to    Windsor, 
whither  she  had  gone.     Afterwards  she  had 
shown  herself  in  two  or  three  great  country 
houses.     Then  she  had  entertained  a  sue- 
cession  of  shooting  parties    at   Glenorchie 
Castle.     Having  thus  done  enough  for  dig- 
nity   she    withdrew    to    Tuabridge  Wells. 
Here  she  could  be  in  solitude;  here,  like  a 
nun  in  her  cloister,  she  could  wrestle  with 
her  conscience  in  seclusion;  here  she  could 
try  to  soothe  her  soul  with  reading,  medita- 
tion, and  prayer. 

For  her  battle  was  not  only  with   her 


364 


GRISELDA 


t\ 


tjride-   there  was  entering  on  the  field  the 
^eat'spiritual  warrior  called  Self-Upbr^d^ 
L     He  seemed  at  first  to  come  down  from 
London,  when,  in  the  late  autumn,  Nigd, 
who  had  returned  to  his  PiccadiUy  cham- 
bers, began  his   Saturday-to-Monday  visits 
to  Rusthall  Court.     Lady  Glenorchie  never 
stopped  wondering  what  her  son  was  nurs- 
ing in  his  heart.     From  the  night  of  Gns- 
elda's   departure    from  Lomond  Lodge  he 
never  spoke  of   her   as   of    other   than  a 
stranger     He  had  come  back  from  London 
on  the  following  day  pale,  grave,  and  silent ; 
he  did  not  say,  but  the  mother  knew  that 
he  had  seen  Griselda,  and  that  all  was  defi- 

""'LldrSenorchie  had  expected  f^mher 
son  some  word  of  reproach,  but  none  had 
ever  been  spoken;  she  had  looked  for  some 
sign  of  estrangement,  but  none  had  ever 
•  come.    He  was  as  tender,  gentle  and  devoted 
as  heretofore.     If  he  suffered  he  said  noth- 
ing; if  his  suffering  was  due  to  her  he  waB 
careful  she  should  not  suspect  it.     They 
spoke  freely  of  Griselda's  claim,  but  never 
directly  of  her.     Griselda's  solicitors  com- 
municated  to  Glenorchie's  the  nature  of  the 
evidence  to  be  put  in.  and  this  was  fre- 


iLDA 

»ring  on  the  field  the 
called  Self-Upbraid- 
st  to  come  down  from 
3  late  autumn,  Nigel, 
,  his  Piccadilly  cham- 
rday-to-Monday  visits 
ady  Glenorchie  never 
rhat  her  son  was  nurs- 
rom  the  night  of  Gris- 
,m  Lomond  Lodge  he 
as  of  other  than  a 
me  back  from  London 
pale,  grave,  and  silent; 
the  mother  knew,  that 
,  and  that  all  was  defi- 

had  expected  from  her 
reproach,  but  none  had 
ae  had  looked  for  some 
nt,  but  none  had  ever 
ider,  gentle  and  devoted 
;  suffered  he  said  noth- 
r  was  due  to  her  he  was 
'not  suspect  it.     They 
selda's  claim,  but  never 
riselda's  solicitors  com- 
rchie's  the  nature  of  the 
It  in,  and  this  was  fre- 


GRISELDA 


»tfS 


quently  discussed  at  Rusthall  Court,  but 
with  as  little  personal  reference  as  possible. 
Then  gradually  Lady  Glenorchie  knew 
that  her  son  was  dealing  gently  with  her, 
that  he  would  not  have  her  know  to  what 
extent  she  had  spoiled  his  life  and  wrecked 
his  happiness. 

As  time  went  on  they  both  fell  into  the 
habit   of  speaking    as  though  it  were  an 
accepted  fact  that  they  should  not  go  back 
to  Lomond  Lodge  or  wear  the  Lomond  hon- 
ors.    This  meant  that  Griselda  had  been 
right;  and  if  right  th-it  she  had  intended  to 
act  towards  them  in  a  spirit  of  love,  consid- 
eration, and  self-sacrifice.    And  yet  they  did 
not  speak  of  it.     Nigel  could  not,  and  his 
mother  would  not.      When  she  had  fully 
grasped  the  fact  it  seemed  but  to  increase 
the  bitterness  she  felt  towards  this  girl  who 
had  not  only  proved  herself  strong  but  good. 
If  the  spiritual  warrior  Self-Upbraiding  had 
but  let  the  matter   rest   Lady  Glenorchie 
could  have  encased  her  conscience  in  the 
triple  steel  of  pride,  defiance,  and  indigna- 
tion; but  he  would  not.     He  came  down 
from  London  when  Nigel  came;  he  looked 
out  of  Nigel's  sad  blue  eyes;   he  showed 
himself  in  Nigel's  quiet  joyless  manner;  he 


*;; 


a66  GRISELDA 

was  strongest  of  all  in  Nigel's  smile  and 
words  of  filial  love,  and  thoughtful  acts  of 

tenderness.  ,    ^  •    *• 

The  son  returned  to  London,  but  in  time 
the  spiritual  warrior  went  away  no  more. 
He  stayed  with  the  mother,  walking  witi 
her  in  the  garden,  whispering  to  her  in  h  ;r 
prayers,  coming  to  her  in  her  dreams. 

One  day,  as  the  winter  wore  on,  Li  ly 
Glenorchie  was  sitting  almost  alone  in  ^ust- 
hall  Church.  It  was  a  week  day.  the  Feast 
of  the  Conversion  of  St.  Paul.  The  voice  of 
the  old  priest  who  read  was  weak  and  mdis- 
tinct,  and  Lady  Glenorchie's  thoughts  were 
far  away.  Suddenly  it  seemed  as  if  a  mighty 
call  tender  yet  terrible,  rang  along  the 
aisles:  "It  is  hard  for  thee  to  kick  against 

the  pricks."  , 

Lady  Glenorchie    started,    temfied    and 

trembling.    Was  it  only  the  voice  of  the  old 

man  at  the  altar?    Yes,  of  course.    He  had 

gone  on  at  once  with  the  words: 
"And  he  trembling  and  astonished  said, 

Lord,  what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do?" 
She  steadied  herself,  and  said : 
"I  am  foolish.    It  was  my  imagination. 

Thr  t  had  nothing  to  do  with  me. " 
But  she  could  not  sUy  in  the  church, 


Sh 
Sh 
as 
en 
an 

w< 

\    ds 

wi 

th 
fa 

St 

ic 
a| 

tl 
1 

tl 

q 

c 
a 
t 
1 


LDA 

I  Nigel's  smile,  and 
d  thoughtful  acts  of 

London,  but  in  time 
vent  away  no  more, 
lother,  walking  wit'i 
spering  to  her  in  h  ;r 
in  her  dreams, 
inter  wore  on,  Li  dy 
almost  alone  in  Tlust- 
week  day,  the  Feast 
t.  Paul.    The  voice  of 
I  was  weak  and  indis- 
rchie's  thoughts  were 
seemed  as  if  a  mighty 
ible,  rang  along   the 
r  thee  to  kick  against 

itarted,    terrified    and 
ily  the  voice  of  the  old 
s,  of  course.    He  had 
the  words: 
J  and  astonished  said, 
have  me  to  do?" 
f,  and  said: 
was  my  imagination, 
io  with  me." 
t  sUy  in  the  church. 


GRISELDA 


267 


She  went  ont,  and  yet  could  not  go  home. 
She  crossed  the  Common  and  walked  as  far 
as  the  High  Rocks  before  she  felt  calm 
enough  to  face  the  solitude  of  her  own  house 
and  the  torture  of  her  thoughts. 

The  next  day  was  Saturday  and  Nigel 
would  come  down. 

"I  will  ask  him  to  stay  with  me  a  few 
days,"  she  said.     "Then  this  nervousness 

will  pass." 

The  next  day  he  came.  She  met  him  at 
the  door.  On  the  instant  when  his  grave 
face  lit  up  with  the  smile  of  greeting,  the 
strange  voice  rang  out  again,  not  aloud,  but 
in  her  heart:  "It  is  hard  for  thee  to  kick 
against  the  pricks." 

This  time  she  paid  no  heed.  Nigel  was  . 
there  with  his  kind  ways  and  his  budget  of 
London  news,  so  that  she  no  longer  feared 
the  silence  of  the  house,  and  the  ceaseless 
questioning  of  conscience.  In  her  son's 
company  she  so  soothed  and  strengthened 
and  defied  herself  that  she  entered  into  a 
time  of  what  she  thought  was  spiritual 
peace.  She  prayed  much,  and  soon  consid- 
ered herself  strong. 

Then,  a  fortnight  later  Nigel  came  again. 
It  was  a  few  days  after  the  last  hearing  of 


Is 

S'i    - 


m 


GRISELDA 


Griselda's  case  at  Westminster.  He  had  had 
made  for  his  mother  a  report  of  the  whole 
proceedings,  word  for  word,  so  that  no  detail 
might  be  unknown  to  her. 

It  was  late  at  night  when  he  arrived,  and 
he  was  very  tired.  Almost  at  once  he  kissed 
his  mother  good-night,  leaving  the  papers 

with  her.  ^.         .  . 

The  report  was  long,  but  Lady  Glenorchie 
never  raised  her  eyes  till  it  was  finished. 

"It  is  conclusive,"  she  said,  as  she  laid  it 
down.  "She  was  right.  She  has  won.  We 
must  be  brave,  but  it  is  useless  to  deny  our 

humiliation."  . 

Then  she  prayed  for  strength  to  bear  tiie 
blow  she  had  expected,  and  all  but  asked  for 
means  and  force  to  pay  it  back. 

That  night  she  woke  suddenly,  in  great 
terror,  with  the  sense  of  being  haunted. 
She  had  had  a  dreadful  dream,  of  what  she 
could  not  remember.  Only  the  words  with 
which  she  awaked  kept  ringing  in  her  mem- 
ory: "It  is  hard  for  thee  to  kick  agamst  the 

^"she'raised  herself  in  her  bed  and  peered 
into  the  darkness. 

"Lord,  what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do? 
she  whispered,  half-aloud. 


n 

tl 
t 
s 
c 

1 
i 

1 


LDA 

minster.    He  had  had 

a  report  of  the  whole 

)vord,  so  that  no  detail 

ler. 

when  he  arrived,  and 

nost  at  once  he  kissed 

t,  leaving  the  papers 

:,  but  Lady  Glenorchie 
till  it  was  finished, 
she  said,  as  she  laid  it 
It.    She  has  won.     We 
is  useless  to  deny  our 

)r  strength  to  bear  the 
d,  and  all  but  asked  for 
ly  it  back. 

)ke  suddenly,  in  great 
ise  of  being  haunted, 
ful  dream,  of  what  she 
Only  the  words  with 
pt  ringing  in  her  mem- 
thee  to  kick  against  the 


GRISELDA 


aS9 


in 


her  bed  and  peered 


thou  have  me  to  do?" 
aloud. 


But  there  was  no  reply.     Throu?hJiej 
mind  there  surged  broken  recollections  of 
what  she  had  read  before  going  to  sleep 
noughts  of  Inversnaid,  Griselda  Grant,  and 
SetSgedyinthewest.     Then  slowly  there 
Semed'to  come  almost  into  vision  the  figure 
of  a  girl  in  white,  a  large  turquoise  at  her 
breasf,  another  in  her  hair-a  motherless 
friendless  girl,  smitten,  staggered,  driven  to 
bly!  forcel  into  using  the  Truth  as  a  weapon 
in  her  own  defence. 

Lady  Glenorchie  fell  back  trembling  on 

^^"LoJr"wliat  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do? 
what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  dc>?''^e jn- 
xnured  over  and  over  agam;  but  there  was 
neither  voice,  nor  any  to  answer,  nor,  appai^ 
eirtly,  any  that  regarded.  She  was  left  to 
the  darkness  and  her  thoughts. 

She  said  nothing  to  Nigel  of  this  persist- 
ent  cry  of  self -accusation.  She  was  glad  on 
Ss  occasion  when  he  went  back  to  London. 
She  wanted  to  be  alone,  to  fight  with  the 
spiritual  tormentor,  to  say  something  on  her 
own  behalf,  to  regain  her  peace  of  mind  and 

^^l^lTa^not  been   unius,"  she  m^^^^^^^ 
desperately  to  herself,  as  she  paced  the  leaf- 


ayo 


GRISELDA 


r 
ill 


fi:; 
1 1 


ill 


Ir 


less  alleys  of  her  garden.  "I  have  not  been 
proud,  I  have  not  been  unkind.  I  have  only 
upheld  my  rank.  I  have  only  protected  my 
own  dignity.  I  never  meant  to  strike  a 
defenceless  child.  I  never  tried  to  ruin  my 
son's  happiness. ' ' 

"It  is  hard  for  thee  to  kick  against  the 
pricks,"  argued  the  inexorable  voice. 

"I  do  not,"  she  replied,  as  though  answer- 
ing a  visible  accuser.  "I  am  not  resisting 
any  high  or  honorable  prompting.  If  I  have 
done  wrong  I  am  ready  to  make  amends. 
Only  I  cannot  humble  myself  to  her.  O 
God,  do  not  ask  that  of  me,"  her  heart  cried 
out.  "I  could  not  come  to  that.  I  could 
forgive  her,  but  I  cannot  ask  for  her  for- 
giveness.    I  never  can;  I  never  will." 

And  yet  as  the  days  went  by  she  felt  her- 
self slowly  coming  to  her  knees.  Then 
there  was  a  moment  when  the  spiritual 
warrior  won,  when  the  haughty  woman's 
soul  lay  humbled,  in  the  dust,  defending 
itself  no  more,  confessing,  and  crying  out 
for  chastisement. 

There  had  been  a  long  night  of  struggle, 
followed  by  a  morning  of  resolve.  Nigel 
had  come  to  her  early  with  a  journal  in  his 
hand.     He  said  nothing;  he  only  kissed  her. 


itiaRntig-- 


LDA 

X.  "I  have  not  been 
unkind.  I  have  only 
re  only  protected  my 
meant  to  strike  a 
iver  tried  to  ruin  my 

!  to  kick  against  the 

ixorable  voice. 

:d,  as  though  answer- 

"I  am  not  resisting 
irompting.  If  I  have 
Jy  to  make  amends. 
5  myself  to  her.  O 
me,"  her  heart  cried 
ne  to  that.  I  could 
inot  ask  for  her  for- 

I  never  will." 
vent  by  she  felt  her- 
I  her  knees.  Then 
when  the  spiritual 
e  haughty  woman's 
the  dust,  defending 
iing,  and  crying  out 

ig  night  of  struggle, 
J  of  resolve.  Nigel 
with  a  journal  in  his 
',;  he  only  kissed  her, 


GRISELDA 


271 


and  pointed  to  a  certain  paragraph  three  or 
four^ines  at  most,  stating  that  the  Queen 
had  been  pleased  to  recogmze  Gnselda  Tul- 
loch  as  Countess  of  Lomond. 

Then  it  was  that  Lady  Glenorchie,  saying 
nothing  to  her  son,  had  written  the  letter 
which  Griselda,  diamond-crowned  and  glow- 
ing with  excitement,  had  tossed  aside  so 

scornfully.  .  , 

The  next  morning  the    girl  wrote   her 

reply. 

"Lady  Lomond " 

Griselda  smiled  bitterly  at  the  thought 
that  the  first  time  she  herself  should  use  the 
title  should  be  in  writing  to  the  ^omaa  who 
more  than  any  one  in  the  world  would  have 

kept  it  from  her. 

-Lady  Lomond  presents  her  compliments 
to  Lady  Glenorchie,  and  regrets——" 

Then  she  stopped.  Could  she,  dared  she 
refuse  to  see  Nigel's  mother,  even  though 
coming  to  make  her  suffer  more  keenly  than 
before  No;  Lady  Phillida  was  right;  she 
must  see  h;r.  but  it  should  be  once  for 

^^^"Lady  Lomond  presents  her  compliments 
to  Lady  Glenorchie,"  she  wrote  again  and 
begs  to  say  that  she  will  be  at  Lady  PhilUda 


i 


If* 

i  . 
fii  ■ 

I' 
IP 


I 


tf** 


GRISELDA 


Wimpole's  house  in  Queen's  Gate  on  Friday 
afternoon  from  two  o'clock  till  six." 

It  was  after  four  when  Lady  Glenorchie 
came.     Griselda  was  already  nervous  with 
the  long  two  hours  of  expectation.     At  the 
moment  when  the  footman  threw  the  door 
open  and  Lady  Glenorchie  entered  Griselda 
was  sitting  at  the  furthest  end  of  the  long 
room.     She  rose,  but  neither  came  forward 
nor  held  out  her  hand,   moved  by  dread 
rather  than  discourtesy.     Lady  Glenorchie, 
sensitive  to  all  the  social  significance  of  act 
and    attitude,  traversed    the  room's  great 
length,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  slight,  girl- 
ish figure  in  simple  black,  relieved  only  by 
the  shimmer  of  a  silver  girdle.     Griselda,  on 
her  side,  frightened  as  she  was,  noted  half- 
unconsciously  the  richness  of  Lady  Glen, 
orchie's  sables,  and  the  incomparable  grace 
which  carried  them. 

When  they  came  face   to   face  Griselda 

bowed  slightly  and  coldly.    Lady  Glenorchie 

responded,  keeping  her  hands  in  her  muflE. 

Now  that  she  had  come  she  scarcely  knew 

what  she  had  to  say. 

"I  must  tliank  you,"  she  began,  "for  hav- 
ing consented- " 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  Griselda  said,  indi- 


LDA 

een's  Gate  on  Friday 
ocktill  six." 
len  Lady  Glenorchie 
Iready  nervous  with 
expectation.     At  the 
:man  threw  the  door 
;hie  entered  Griselda 
;hest  end  of  the  long 
leither  came  forward 
id,   moved  by  dread 
y.     Lady  Glenorchie, 
ial  significance  of  act 
;d    the  room's  great 
upon  the  slight,  girl- 
ack,  relieved  only  by 
girdle.     Griselda,  on 
J  she  was,  noted  half- 
hness  of  Lady  Glen, 
e  incomparable  grace 

ace  to  face  Griselda 
dly.  Lady  Glenorchie 
er  hands  in  her  muff, 
jme  she  scarcely  knew 

"she  began,  "forhav- 

n?"  Griselda  said,  indi- 


GRISELDA 


373 


eating  a  chair  and  seating  herself  as  she 
''°  For  having  consented  to  see  me,' 'Lady 

Olenorchie  ^^^^^^^,. 
Griselda  looked  at  ner,  out 

But  at  this  moment  l-f^y  ^»c 
not  serene.      Before  Griselda's  lack  of  re 
"Ise   he  felt  helpless  and  unnerved^ 
^°"l  hope  I  am  not  taking  your  time- 
she  began  again.  ,      am   at 
-Not"   Griselda  said  coldly;      1   am   ai 

''''T^ave  come  straight  .  cm  Tunbridge 
Wells  Twanted  to  see  you.     When  my  son 

nrsS;;eTtf^'not-owhowto 

^°.Yes    Lady  Glenorchie?"  Griselda  said, 
with  flight  lifting  of  the  eyebrows  and  an 
air  of  irently  ironical  attention. 
.'I  wanted  to  see  you-I  wanted  to  tell 

^„^ ■.  Lady   Glenorchie   went  on  help- 

S^becoming  more  and  more  confused. 


■I 


I' 


274 


GRISELDA 


"You  wanted  to  tell    xne "  Griselda 

said,  with  condescending  courtesy,  after  a 
long  pause. 

"When  we  saw  that  the  Queen— my  so.' 
doesn't  know  that  I  have  come— I  wanted  to 
be  among  the  very  first " 

The  poor  lady  stammered  piteously;  she 
was  on  new  ground ;  she  was  playing  a  part 
outside  all  the  range  of  her  experience,  and 
beyond  the  command  of  her  imagination. 
She  knew  how  to  be  proud ;  it  was  harder 
than  she  supposed  to  be  humble. 

"My  son  doesn't  know  that  I  have  come," 
she  began  again.  "I  dareu  not  tell  him. 
He  would  not  have  underyiood— ^he  wouU! 
never  have  permitted  me " 

"Lady  Glenorchie,  what  does  this  mean?" 
Griseida  demanded  haughtily.  "What  has 
your  son  to  do  either  with  me  or  with  this 
meeting?    Do  you  come  on  his  behalf?" 

"No,  on  mine,"  the  older  woman 
answered,  confused  yet  angered  by  Gris- 
elda's  tone.  "I  come  only  on  my  own 
behalf.  I  have  not  forgotten  the  night  you 
left  us  at  Ascot " 

"Nor  I,"  said  Griselda. 

"And  I  wanted  you  to  understand  that  my 
son  and  I— that  is,  that  I,  I  alone,  regret, 


ELDA 

ell    me "  Griselda 

ling  courtesy,  after  a 

t  the  Queen — my  m.' 
ive  come — I  wanted  to 

St ••      . 

imered  piteously;  she 
she  w;is  playing  a  part 
of  her  experience,  and 
I   of  her  imagination. 

proud ;  it  was  harder 
be  humble. 

low  that  I  have  come," 
I  dareu  not  tell  him. 
underyiood— he  would 

me 

what  does  this  mean?" 
laughtily.  "What  has 
r  with  me  or  with  this 
me  on  his  behalf?" 
'  the  older  woman 
yet  angered  by  Gris- 
me  only  on  my  own 
brgotten  the  night  you 

elda. 

1  to  understand  that  my 

Lhat  I,  I  alone,  regret, 


^ 


:p^^PiFi 


'>. 


^  ▼To 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


U^MTA     |2.5 
itt  1^   12.2 


1.8 


—    6" 


i^  iU    11.6 


4f 


'/ 


71 


''^^ 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  IVIicroreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


6^ 


% 


GRISELDA 


»n 


deeply  regret,  that  you  should  have  been 
made  to  feel  that  we  looked  upor  you— that 
is,  that  we  mistook  you— mistook  you— how 
shall  I  put  it?— mistook  you  for  another  sort 

of  person " 

Griselda  rose. 

"Need  we  continue  this  conversation? 
she  asked  quietly,  but  with  eyes  flashing  and 
lips  almost  white. 

Lady  Glenorchie  rose  too,  trembling  with 
a  loss  of  «»elf  -  control  such  as  had  never 
before  come  to  her,  angry  with  Griselda  and 
still  tnore  so  with  heiself. 

"You  .will  not  let  me  say  it,"  she  cned, 
the  tears'  starting  to  her  eyes. 

"I  will  not  listen  again  to  insult.  I  have 
already  borne  too  much." 

"I  did  not  come  to  insult  you  again." 

"Then  for  what?" 

"I  came  to  speak  of  what  I  said  that  night 

at  Ascot " 

"And  to  ask  my  pardon  for  it?" 
"No,  to  repeat  it,"  Lady  Glenorchie 
cried,  itterly  beside  herself,  stung  by  what 
seemed  to  her  a  wilful  misinterpretation  of 
her  errand.  She  stood  white  and  motion- 
less, watching  the  effect  of  her  words  upon 
Griselda's  face,   as  an  archer  follows  the 


Mil' 


376 


GRISELDA 


flight  of  his  arrow  till  it  s'trtkes  the  victim's 
side. 

Griselda  felt  like  a  fallen  man  who  has 
been  struck  a  second  time  in  his  attempt  to 
rise.  For  a  moment  the  two  blanched 
women  looked  each  other  in  the  eyes.  When 
Griselda  spoke  it  was  in  the  low  voice  of 
passion  which  expresses  itself  deliberately 
and  with  self-control. 

"Then,  having  said  it,  will  you  go?" 

"Yes,  I  will  go,"  Lady  Glenorchie  cried, 
moving  nearer  and  finding  utterance  at  last. 
"I  will  go,  but  not  before  I  tell  you  that  you 
are  cruel,  revengeful,  and  unkind.  I  am  an 
old  woman,  and  a  proud  woman,  and  yet  I 
came  to  humble  myself  to  you — to  you,  a 
girl,  almost  a  child.  I  came  to  throw  my- 
self in  the  dust  before  you,  to  pour  out  my 
heart,  to  tell  you  that  I  have  been  a  wicked 
woman,  unjust  to  you  and  heartless  towards 
my  son.  I  came  to  ask  your  pity  as  I  have 
asked  my  God's." 

"Oh,  Lady  Glenorchie!"  Griselda  cried, 
flushing  scarlet  to  the  very  temples. 

But  the  older  woman  went  on  rapidly, 
pouring  out  confession  and  reproach 
together. 

"Do  you  think  it  was  not  hard?    Do  you 


ELDA 

it  strikes  the  victim's 

fallen  man  who  has 
;ime  in  his  attempt  to 
It  the  two  blanched 
her  in  the  eyes.  When 
s  in  the  low  voice  of 
ises  itself  deliberately 

it,  will  you  go?" 
,ady  Glenorchie  cried, 
iding  utterance  at  last, 
fore  I  tell  you  that  you 

and  unkind.  I  am  an 
uud  woman,  and  yet  I 
lelf  to  you — to  you,  a 

I  came  to  throw  my- 
re  you,  to  pour  out  my 

I  have  been  a  wicked 

and  heartless  towards 
ask  your  pity  as  I  have 

chie!"  Griselda  cried, 
e  very  temples, 
man   went  on  rapidly, 
sssion     and     reproach 

vas  not  hard?    Do  yoa 


GRISELDA 


977 


think  that  after  the  words  I  have  spoken  to 
you  in  the  past  it  was  easy  to  drag  myself 
before  you  now?     Do  you  think  that  after 
all  the  wrong  I  have  done  you  it  was  a  light 
thing  to  come  and  say  that  you  were  right? 
After  all  that  you  have  taken  from  us,  do 
you  think  that  I  could  come  with  eager  step 
and  fluent  words  to  tell  you  it  is  justly  yours 
and  that  I  am  glad  it  is  in  your  hands?    I 
have  come,  but  I  have  come  like  a  woman 
going  towards  death.     Confession  may  be  a 
pleaslnt  thing  to  you;  it  is  a  very  bitten 
draught  to  me,  and  yet  you  would  not  let 
me  drink  it.     I  have  been  hard  to  you,  1 

have  hated  you "  ,  , 

"No  no,"  Griselda  cried  again,  ternhea 
at  this  sudden  glimpse  into  the  secrets  of 
another  woman's  soul.      "Don't,  dont;    1 

can't  bear  it "  . 

"Let  me  go  on,"  Lady  Glenorchie  inter- 
rupted, in  the  very  passion  of  self-accusa- 
tion.  ''Let  me  make  an  end.  It  is  true.  I 
hated  you.  I  plotted  against  you.  And  yet 
underneath  it  all  there  was  something  else, 
I  don't  know  what,  a  something  which  drew 
me  to  you,  but  which  I  fought  agamst  and 
would  not  own.  Long  ago.  in  the  Ascot 
days,  I  knew  that  it  was  there.     Since  then 


278 


GRISELDA 


— since  that  dreadful  night  when  we  last 
stood  face  to  face — it  has  been  calling  within 
me  like  a  dumb  man's  cry,  piteous,  inartic- 
ulate— only  I  would  not  heed.  Now,  at  last, 
I  have  heeded,  now  I  have  come  to  you, 
asking  you  to  forgive,  asking  you  for  peace, 
and  because  I  am  unnerved  you  are 
annoyed,  and  because  I  cannot  put  into  easy 
words  the  torture  of  my  soul,  you  order  me 
to  go.  Yes,  I  will  go.  It  is  the  crowning 
act  of  my  humiliation  to  have  come.  But  at 
Itast  my  soul  will  have  found  rest  when  the 
anguish  will  have  descended  upon  yours." 

She  turned  and  moved  swiftly  towards  the 
door.  She  had  spoken  rapidly,  without  ges- 
tures, her  hands  imprisoned  in  her  muff,  but 
with  eager  eyes  looking  down  into  Gris- 
elda's.  It  had  all  been  so  sudden,  so  sur- 
prising that  Lady  Glenorchie  had  almost 
reached  the  door  before  the  girl  found  voice. 

"No,  no!  Don't  go!  Come  back!"  she 
cried. 

Lady  Glenorchie  turned  suddenly,  and 
they  looked  at  each  other.  For  a  moment 
neither  stirred.  Then  Griselda  took  a  step 
forward,  hesitating,  doubtful,  as  though 
moving  in  a  dream.  Lady  Glenorchie  came 
slowly,  also  doubtfully,  to  meet  her.     They 


s 
1( 

d 
ii 

i 
f 

1 

s 
I 
( 


ELDA 


GRISELDA 


879 


night  when  we  last 
tias  been  calling  within 
s  cry,  piteous,  inartic- 
ot  heed.    Now,  at  last, 

I  have  come  to  you, 

asking  you  for  peace, 
I     unnerved    you    are 

I  cannot  put  into  easy 
ny  soul,  you  order  me 
0.  It  is  the  crowning 
to  have  come.  But  at 
^e  found  rest  when  the 
scended  upon  yours." 
fed  swiftly  towards  the 
1  rapidly,  without  ges- 
soned  in  her  muff,  but 
ting  down  into  Gris- 
;en  so  sudden,  so  sur- 
lenorchie  had  almost 
e  the  girl  found  voice, 
o!     Come  back!"  she 

urned  suddenly,  and 
ither.  For  a  moment 
Griselda  took  a  step 
doubtful,  as  though 
Lady  Glenorchie  came 
',  to  meet  her.     They 


stood  again  face  to  face.  And  then,  with  a 
low  cry  in  which  there  was  both  joy  and  pain 
— with  a  yearning  in  which  there  was  both 
defeat  and  victory,  the  girl  threw  herself 
into  the  older  woman's  arms. 

That  night  at  dinner  Lady  Glenorchie  was 
for  the  first  time  in  long  months  like  her 
former  self.  Paul  de  Marignan  was  there, 
Nigel  having  brought  him  from  London  to 
spend  a  few  days  at  Rusthall  Court. 

"Will  you  let  Nigel  come  with  me  to 
Paris?"  the  painter  asked. 

"Yes,  willingly,  for  a  little  while,"  Lady 
Glenorchie  said. 

"And  then  to  the  Riviera?" 

"Certainly,  if  you  take  good  care  of  him. 
I  think  the  change  will  do  him  good. ' 

Later  the  two  men  were  smoking  in  the 
library.  Lady  Glenorchie  came  in  to  say 
good-night.  They  rose  as  she  entered;  Mar- 
ignan, with  his  quick  powers  of  observation, 
remarked  that  her  air  was  grave. 

"I  have  something  to  say,  Nigel,"  she 
began,  "before  I  go  upstairs." 

She  spoke  slowly  with  a  certain  hesita- 
tion, but  with  none  of  the  confusion  she  had 
displayed  in  the  afternoon. 

"Don't  go,  Monsieur  de  Marignan,"  she 


38o  GRISELDA 

added,  as  the  artist  seemed  about  to  with- 
draw.    *'I  want  specially  to  say  it  before 

you." 

"She  paused,  and  then  went  on  again. 

"J  have  been  to  London  to-day.  I  have 
seen  l.ady  Lomond." 

"'•1.JH101  i' 

"She  has  forgiven  the  great  wrong  I  have 
done  her.     I  want  you,  my  son,  to  forgive 

me  too." 

For  an  instant  all  three  stood  still  and 
silent.  Then  Glenorchie  moved  towards  his 
mother  and  folded  her  in  his  arms. 

"I  shall  be  happier  now,  in  spite  of  all, 
he  murmured  tenderly. 
"I  too,"  she  said. 

As  Marignan  held  open  the  door  for  her 
she  offered  him  her  hand.  He  bent  low  and 
kissed  it  reverently. 

"Good-night,  dear  brother  of  my  son, 
she  said  to  him  in  French;  and  so  passed 

Marignan  closed  the  door  behind  her  and 
returned  to  where  Nigel  stood  before  the 

fire. 
"Does  this  mean  peace?" 

"No,"  said  Glenorchie,  "not  for  me." 

"And  yet  you  are  glad?" 


ELDA 

seemed  about  to  with- 
lially  to  say  it  before 

hen  went  on  again, 
^ondon  to-day.     I  have 


the  great  wrong  I  have 
ou,  my  son,  to  forgive 

1  three  stood  still  and 

chie  moved  towards  his 

er  in  his  arms. 

r  now,  in  spite  of  all," 

•ly. 

i  open  the  door  for  her 
land.    He  bent  low  and 

r  brother  of  my  son," 
French;  and  so  passed 

the  door  behind  her  and 
Nigel  stood  before  the 

peace?" 

.rchie,  "not  for  me." 

I  glad?" 


GRISELDA 


a8i 


"Yes,  because    now  my  mother  under- 
stands." 

"And   if    she    understands    cannot    you 
make  all  the  rest  come  right?"^^ 

"No;  it  is  too  late  for  that." 

"You  mean  that  you  could  not  marry  a 
woman  who  has  taken  so  much  from  you?" 

"I  mean  that,  partly.     I  should  have  the 
air  of  trying  to  steal  it  back. " 

"You  are  afraid  of  what  the  world  would 

say?" 
"I  am." 
"That  ;<sems   unworthy  of    a  man  like 

you. ' ' 

"It  may  be  unworthy,  but  public  opinion 

has  its  weight." 

"Not  seriously.  Happily  I  know  you  too 
well.  You  will  not,  when  it  comes  to  the 
test,  spoil  your  own  life  and  another's 
because  you  have  not  the  courage  to  be 
slandered."  , 

"Dear  old  chap,"  said  Glenorchie,  look- 
ing Marignan  frankly  in  the  face,  "I  know 
you  are  my  friend  and  that  you  wish  me 
well.  Let  me  then  say  once  for  all  that  I 
could  not  marry  Lady  Lomond  if  I  would, 
for  she  is  going  to  marry  some  one  else." 

"Already?" 


a8a 


GRISELDA 


"Already." 

Marignan  said  nothing,  but  turning  from 
Glenorchie  walked  across  the  room.  He 
seemed  to  be  engrossed  for  some  moments 
in  reading  the  titles  of  the  books  which 
lined  the  wall.  When  he  came  back  towards 
the  fire  Nigel  was  sitting  down,  his  elbows 
on  his  knees,  and  his  face  buried  in  his 
hands.  Marignan  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
young  man's  head, 

"You  do  not  think  her  heartless?" 
"No,"  said  Glenorchie  without  looking  up. 
"You  have  not  lost  your  faith  in  her?" 

"No." 

"You  have  not  lost  your  love?" 

The    question    came    from    him    gently, 

almost    solemnly.     Glenorchie    shook    his 

head. 

"Live  like  that,"  Marignan  said  softly 
and  with  affection.  "Live  like  that  and 
love  like  that;  and  then  some  day— who 
knows?  The  good  God  does  not  make  mis- 
takes." 

Then  going  to  the  mantel-piece  he  took 
another  cigarette  and  began  to  smoke. 


ELDA 


ing,  but  turning  from 
icross  the  room.  He 
;ed  for  some  moments 
;  of  the  books  which 
he  came  back  towards 
ting  down,  his  elbows 
lis  face  buried  in  his 
id  his  hand  upon  the 

her  heartless?" 

:hie  without  looking  up. 

:  your  faith  in  her?" 

t  your  love?" 

ne    from    him   gently, 

Glenorchie    shook    his 

Marignan  said  softly 

"Live  like  that  and 

I  then  some  day— who 

lod  does  not  make  mis- 

le  mantel-piece  he  took 
d  began  to  smoke. 


PART  III 


p  • 


XVI 

'•How  silent!"  said  Lady  Phillida. 
•'And  how  still!"  said  Grayburn.  ^^ 

••The  Italian  sky  never  seems  so  blue, 
Lady  Phillida  remarked,  "as  when  one  sees 
it  as  now,  framed  between  those  huge  gray 
columns,  or  as  when  one  looks  upward  at  it 
through  some  such  roofless  expanse  as  this^ 
I  think  it  is  even  bluer  so  than  when  een 
behind  the  dark  green  foliage  of  the  Hex 

trees  " 

••l"  never  thought  there  were  so  many 
daffodils  in  the  world,"  said  Grayburn. 
?•  Just  look  out  there  through  the  doorway, 
it  is  like  a  field  of  gold." 

••And  to  think  that  they  have  been  bloom- 
ing season  after  season,  just  like  this,  for 
over  two  thousand  years.     Paestum,  one  o 
the  guide  books  says,  was  famous  for  its 
flowers.     It  supplied  the  markets  of  Rome 
and  Naples,  just  as  the  Riviera  does  to-day. 

.'On?y  tii  gardens  could  -t  have  been 
just    here."     Grayburn     said    idly.        All 
around  where  we  are  now  there  must  have 
98$ 


286 


GRISELDA 


been  streets  and  squares,  almost  over  to 
where  you  see  that  broad  blue  band  of  sea. " 

They  were  sitting  in  one  of  the  three  vast, 
lonely  temples  which  mark  the  site  of  the 
vanished  Greek  city  south  of  Salerno. 

From  London  they  had  come  straight  to 
Italy,  spending  nearly  a  month  in  Florence. 
Then  they  had  decided  to  visit  Naples 
before  the  weather  became  too  warm, 
returning  afterwards  to  Rome,  where  Gray- 
burn  and  Griselda  were  to  be  married. 
From  Naples  they  had  gone  on  the  preced- 
ing day  to  La  Cava,  in  order  to  have  the 
morning  in  which  to  visit  Paestum,  and  to 
reach  Amalfi  before  evening. 

Grayburn  and  Lady  Phillida  had  come 
alone,  for  Griselda  had  been  too  tired  to  leave 
La  Cava. 

"I  will  stay  with  you,"  Lady  Phillida  had 
said,  that  morning.  "Mr.  Grayburn  can  go 
alone  to  Pesto  and  we  shall  meet  him  with 
the  carriage  at  Salerno  in  the  afternoon,  and 
go  on  together  to  Amalfi." 

But  Grayburn  had  insisted  in  his  dom- 
inant, unreasonable  way,  till  at  last  Griselda 
had  said: 

"Please  go  with  him,  dear  Lady  Phillida. 
We  shall  never  make  him  understand  that 


SELDA 

quares,  almost  over  to 
)road  blue  band  of  sea. " 
in  one  of  the  three  vast, 
;h  mark  the  site  of  the 
south  of  Salerno, 
ey  had  come  straight  to 
ly  a  month  in  Florence, 
ecided  to  visit  Naples 
sr  became  too  warm, 
5  to  Rome,  where  Gray- 
,  were  to  be  married, 
ad  gone  on  the  preced- 
i,  in  order  to  have  the 
o  visit  Paestum,  and  to 
evening. 

ady  Phillida   had  come 
id  been  too  tired  to  leave 

^ou,"  Lady  Phillida  had 
"Mr.  Grayburn  can  go 
we  shall  meet  him  with 
•no  in  the  afternoon,  and 
malfi." 

ad  insisted  in  his  dom- 
way,  till  at  last  Griselda 

lim,  dear  Lady  Phillida. 
ke  him  understand  that 


GRISELDA 


287 


we  don't  mind  missing  his  grewsome  tem- 
ples and  that  we  could  amuse  ourselves 
better  in  our  way  than  in  his.  For  good- 
ness'  sake  let  us  do  what  he  wants  and  keep 

him  quiet."  , 

So   Lady   Phillida,    with   a  smile    and  a 
eroan,  yielded  to  what   seemed  necessity, 
ft  was  thus  they  had  lived  for  more  than  a 
month,  Grayburn,  eager,   impetuous    tire- 
less determined  to  see  everything  and  make 
them  see  it  too;  they,  straining  themselves 
in  mind  and  body  to  keep  his  pace,  with 
little  of  the  sight-seer's  zeal,  but  coaxed  on 
goaded  on,  by  the  restless  will  they  had  set 
Themselves  to  please.    Many  a  time  Griselda 
had  slipped  unseen  out  of   some  picture- 
gallery  or  storied  church,  just  to  rest  her 
eves  by  looking  at  a  blank  stone  wall,  or  to 
give  her  spirit  u  breathing-spell  by  watching 
the  black-eyed  children  in  the  streets      It 
was  always  Lady  Phillida  who  stood  faith- 
fully to  her  task,  making  it  her  duty  to  study 
the   guide-books  and  keep  by  Grayburn  s 
side  to  answer  his  questions  and  explain  the 
things  he  did  not  know,  to  humor  him  and 
teach  him,  to  lead  him  and  follow  him,  to 
do  everything  in  her  power,  and  even  be- 
yond her  power,  to  keep  up  with  that  sense 


i 


288 


GRISELDA 


of  mastery  which  now  would  comprehend 
and  conquer  Italy,  as  it  had  wrung  its 
resources  from  the  west. 

Alone  together  Griselda  and  Lady  Phil- 
lida  spoke  of  Graybum  as  of  a  wilful,  incor- 
rigible child,  neither  to  be  commanded  nor 
cajoled;  and  yet  they  had  already  formed 
the  habit  of  living  in  the  spirit  of  his  will. 
Against  this  unconscious  kindly  tyranny 
Griselda  was  rebellious;  but  forced  herself 
to  bend  to  the  yoke  which  she  knew  must  be 
hers  through  life.  Lady  Phillida,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  eager  to  be  meek,  sighing 
to  think  that  she  should  soon  be  free.  She 
dreaded  these  moments  alone  with  Gray- 
bum  ;  she  dreaded  his  ceaseless  expressions 
of  admiration  and  regard ;  but,  she  told  her- 
self, these  would  be  her  memories  after  the 
wedding  day  in  Rome.  In  going  to  Rome 
she  felt  herself  climbing  up  to  the  brink  of 
some  stupendous  precipice,  where  the  path 
broke  off,  and  beyond  which  all  was  blank. 

So  they  had  come  together  to  Pesto.  They 
had  lunched  in  the  Temple  of  Ceres,  on  the 
steps  of  which  the  courier  and  servants 
could  still  be  seen  feasting  on  the  fragments. 

Then  Graybum  and  Lady  Phillida  had 
strolled  across  the  fields  to  that  central  tem- 


3ELDA 

LOW  would  comprehend 
as    it    had   wrung  its 
rest. 

riselda  and  Lady  Phil- 
im  as  of  a  wilful,  incor- 
to  be  commanded  nor 
sy  had  already  formed 
n  the  spirit  of  his  will, 
iscious   kindly   tyranny 
ous;  but  forced  herself 
vhich  she  knew  must  be 
Lady  Phillida,   on  the 
^er  to  be  meek,  sighing 
ould  soon  be  free.    She 
lents  alone  with  Gray- 
lis  ceaseless  expressions 
igard;  but,  she  told  her- 
i  her  memories  after  the 
ae.     In  going  to  Rome 
ibing  up  to  the  brink  of 
recipice,  where  the  path 
nd  which  all  was  blank, 
together  to  Pesto.   They 
remple  of  Ceres,  on  the 
B    courier  and  servants 
iasting  on  the  fragments, 
and   Lady   Phillida  had 
elds  to  that  central  tem- 


GRISELDA 


389 


nle  the  great  basilica,  whose  simple  majesty 
and  overwhelming  loneliness  are  not  only 
impressive  to  the  senses  but  smitmg  to  the 

^*-?* don't  think  I  ever  quite  felt  before 

that  this  earth  ^^^^  ^  Pf  •  Vf  ,t''^^.  o"^! 
as  they  went  on  amid  the  daffodils.  Out 
there  in  the  west  the  world  seemed  not  only 
new  but  virgin.  In  America  one  has 
always  a  certain  sense  that  oneself  1-  a 
discoverer.  There  is  so  much  to  do  and  see 
and  learn  that  one  feels  as  if  one's  own  foot 
were  the  first  to  tread  the  spot  on  which 

one  stands."  tm-mivi„     "ftiA 

"And  here,"  said  Lady  Phillida,  the 
very  soil  is  hard  with  the  ruins  of  another 
civilization.  Look,"  she  went  on  uneaithmg 
with  the  point  of  her  parasol  broken  bits  of 
pottery.  "These  things  were  used  and 
Lndled  by  those  who  had  turned  to  dust 
centuries  before  Christ  was  bom.  The  very 
daffodils  push  their  way  up  amid  the  trag- 
xnents   of    what    these    people    have    left 

behind."  .     ,,,  r>-«w 

"Was  there  ever  such  desertion?  Oray- 
burn  said,  awed,  subdued,  submitting  to 
this  overpowering  presence  of  the  past,  as 
he  rarely  yielded  either  to  emotions  or  to 


:">.-?- 


390 


GRISELDA 


men.    "As  you  stand  and  look  at  that  tern- 
pie  over  there,  and  think  that  once  there 
were  hundreds  of  men  and  women  crowding 
up  the  steps,  that  priests  were  chanting,  and 
girls  were  walking  in  procession  with  flutes 
and  flowers,  like  one  of  those  pictures  by 
Alma  Tadema— and  now  they  are  all  gone! 
_it  is  awful.      It  is   the  very  triumph   of 
Death.     I  never  felt  before  that  I  could  die. 
I  have  always  seemed  so  living,  as  if  my 
heart  could  not  stop  beating,  nor  my  blood 
cease  to  run.     Now  I  realize  that  I  too  shall 
be  wiped  out  like  the  rest." 

"At  Pompeii  the  other  day,"  said  Lady 
Phillida,  "I  felt  as  if  I  had  died,  as  if  I  had 
gone  into  a  gray  world  of  universal  dust  and 
ashes,  where  there  was  neither  joy  nor  sor- 
row any  more,  but  only  an  uniform,  passion- 
less life-in-death.  Here  on  the  contrary, 
I  feel  that  I  have  survived.  Under  our  feet 
is  the  past;  over  there  in  the  temples  is 
desertion;  but  we  are  breathing  the  air  of 
spring,  and  walking  among  the  daffodils. 
The  very  fact  that  we  are  alive  seems  heart- 
less, when  so  much  else  has  had  to  die  and 
disappear." 

"Yes,"  said  Grayburn,  "this  Old  World 
solitude  where  man  has  been  and  gone  is 


m 
w 

ir 
P' 

Si 

n 


5ELDA 

i  and  look  at  that  tern- 

think  that  once  there 

in  and  women  crowding 

lests  were  chanting,  and 

n  procession  with  flutes 

te  of  those  pictures  by 

now  they  are  all  gone ! 

s   the  very  triumph   of 

before  that  I  could  die. 

led  so  living,  as  if  my 

)  beating,  nor  my  blood 

I  realize  that  I  too  shall 

erest." 

i  other  day,"  said  Lady 
f  I  had  died,  as  if  I  had 
rid  of  universal  dust  and 
was  neither  joy  nor  sor- 
only  an  uniform,  passion- 
Here  on  the  contrary, 
irvived.  Under  our  feet 
:here  in  the  temples  is 
are  breathing  the  air  of 
ig  among  the  daffodils, 
we  are  alive  seems  heart- 
else  has  had  to  die  and 

yburn,  "this  Old  World 
,n  has  been  and  gone  is 


GRISELDA 


391 


much  more  terrible  than  the  New  World 
wilderness  where  man  has  never  come. 

"Ah  here  "  Lady  Phillida  said,  stoppmg 
in  their  walk;  "here  we  have  the  three  tem- 
ples in  line." 

"How  simple  the  conception,"  Grayburn 
said,    "but  how   indescribably   stately    the 

result."'  , 

"They  are  like  the  sentinels  of  time,  look- 
ing  out  on  the  great  sea  of  history." 

"To  me  they  are  like  the  primeval  giants 
who  have  outlived  the  very  twilight  of  the 
gods,-brooding,  sleepless,  speechless,  for- 
gotten but  never  forgetting,   waiting   for 

eternity."  t.. -hj 

"How  different  one  feels,"  Lady  Phillida 
said,  moving  on  again,  "before  our  northern 
ruins,  at  Netley,  or  Tintern,  or  Jumi^ees. 
There  one   also  feels  the  past,  but  not  a 
crushing,  hopeless,  heart-breaking  past  like 
this     Here  it  is  the  past  that  beats  one 
down;   there  the    past    that  lifts  one  up. 
Here  the  very  daffodils  seem  to  bloom  in 
mockery  of  the  life  of  man;  there  the  ivy 
clings  and  the  roses  climb  and  twine  and 
make  you  feel,  however  dull  your  heart  is, 
that  somewhere  up  'beyond    these    voices 
there  is  Peace.'  " 


392 


GRISELDA 


So  they  talked  on  and  by  and  by  when 
they  were  tired  came  to  sit  in  the  cool 
interior  of  the  temple. 

"This  is  the  most  southerly  pomt  that  we 
shall  touch,"  Grayburn  said,  when  they  had 
spoken  of  many  other  things.  ,  .      . 

"Yes-  when  we  start  from  here  this  after- 
noon we  shall  be  in  a  sense  beginning  our 
journey  home  again."  ,    ,    ^.     , 

"I  am  glad  that  we  have  had  this  day 
together.  I  suppose  it  will  be  the  last 
before  we  return  to  Rome." 

"I    am     sorry    Griselda    couldnt   have 

^°"Oh  yes,  of  course.    But  still  we  couldn't 
have  been  alone  like  this  if  she  had." 
"I  suppose  it  would  have  tired  her  too 

"^" I  hope  it  hasn't  tired  you,"  he  asked, 
with  sudden  tenderness. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said  hurriedly.       it  nas 
given  me  great  pleasure."  ..r*  v,oe 

'  •  And  me  also, ' '  he  said  simply.       It  has 
made  me  feel  as  if  we  were  alone  together 

"With  a  courier  and  two  servants— a  soli- 
tude with  light  and  attendance." 

"I  like  that.     Good  service  is  essential  to 


JELDA 

I  and  by  and  by  when 
me  to   sit  in   the    cool 

le. 

southerly  point  that  we 

urn  said,  when  they  had 

iT  things. 

tart  from  here  this  after- 

L  a  sense  beginning  our 

we  have  had  this  day 
se    it  will   be  the  last 

Rome." 
Griselda    couldn't   have 

•se.    But  still  we  couldn't 
.ke  this  if  she  had." 
ould  have  tired  her  too 

I't  tired  you,"  he  asked, 

:Tiess. 

said  hurriedly.     "It  has 

he  said  simply.     "It  has 
■  we  were  alone  together 

and  two  servants— a  soli- 
a  attendance." 
cod  service  is  essential  to 


GRISELDA 


293 


the  best  seclusion.  It  lifts  one  up  above  the 
material,  and  so  stimulates  meditation. 
"Tarn  fortunate  in  having  friends  who 
can  offer  me  moments  of  both.  After  ths 
luxurious  trip  to  Italy  my  Aunt  Perthshire 
has  written  to  ask  me  to  go  with  her  into 
Spai"  She  always  travels  with  a  courier 
and  a  whole  household  of  domestics. 

"And  you  have  replied' ?" 

"That  I  will  go." 

'•'•farto  join  her  on  the  twenty-eighth; 
always,  of  course,  on  the  supposition  that 
your  wedding  is  to  be  on  Easter  Tuesday. 

"And  afterwards?    After  Spain? 

"Norway,  perhaps,  on  the  invitation  of 
my  brother  Hull;  or  else  the  terra  rncogmta 
of  my  next  ward  in  Chancery. 

"You  are  not  going  to  begm  that  life 

''"  cLinly.  You  are  taking  -.riselda  from 
me.  '  I  must  look  for  some  one  else. 

•  •  Do  you  like  doing  it?" 

"I  did,"  she  answered  frankly.  iNo 
doubt  I  shall  again." 

"Only  for  the  moment  you  aave  no  heart 

to  put  into  it?" 

"Perhaps.     But  that  is  nothing 


J94  GRISELDA 

"On  the  contrary  that  is  everything.  It 
means  that  you  have  passed  beyond  that 
phase.  Life  is  not  a  fixed  condition;  it  is  a 
growth,  of  which  one  part  is  the  preparation 
for  another.  We  don't  stand  still ;  we  must 
move  on.  It  is  the  heart  that  tells  us  when 
the  moment  comes  to  go." 

"Go  where?" 

"Go  where  the  new  work  lies  and  the  new 
happiness  is  to  be  found." 

"Then  that  moment  cannot  yet  have  come 

tome."  .         . 

"Again   I  must    contradict    you.      It    is 

"Here?    Where?    I  don't  understand." 

She  tried  to  laugh,  but  colored  uneasily  in 
spite  of  herself. 

"Look  at  me  and  listen,"  he  said,  in  his 
resolute,  authoritative  way. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  but  his  face 
was  so  near  hers  that  she  lowered    them 

again. 

"When  we  go  back  to  Rome  you  mean  to 

leave  us?" 
"Yes." 


'Does  that  seem  right? 
your  heart  counsels  you?" 
"It  seems  inevitable." 


Is  that  what 


ELDA 

that  is  everything.  It 
e  passed  beyond  that 
fixed  condition ;  it  is  a 
s  part  is  the  preparation 
n't  stand  still;  we  must 
leart  that  tells  us  when 
ogo." 

w  work  lies  and  the  new 

und." 

nt  cannot  yet  have  come 

contradict    you.  "  It    is 

I  don't  understand." 
I,  but  colored  uneasily  in 

a  listen,"  he  said,  in  his 
ive  way. 

jyes  to  his,  but  his  face 
that  she  lowered    them 

ck  to  Rome  you  mean  to 


GRISELDA 


«9S 


n  right? 

syou?" 

ible." 


Is  that  what 


-After  the  way  in  which  we  have  been 
drawn  together  for  the  past  eight  months, 
after  this  intimacy,  after  the  dependence 
with  which  we  have  learnt  to  lean  on  you, 
does  it  seem  fair  to  leave  us  in  the  lurch  like 
that?  What  are  we  to  do?  What  am  I  to 
do?    Griselda,  of  course,  will  have  me;  but 

I  shall  have "  t^i-mvj 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Lady  Phillida. 

"You  must  not  talk  like  that."  ,  ,  ,,  , 

-Must  not  talk?  Why  shouldn  t  I  talk? 
Do  you  imagine  that  I  will  let  you  go  with- 
out a  protest?  Do  you  imagine  that  I  will 
let  you  go  at  all?" 

-Mr  Grayburn,"  she  said,  very  quietly, 
-I  don't  know  what  is  in  your  mmd.  I 
don't  know  what  conceptions  you  may  have 
of  life.  You  have  lived  so  long  and  so  far 
absent  from  our  conventional  methods  of 
saying  things  and  doing  them  that  I  am 

often  puzzled  to  understand "  ^^ 

"That's  it,"  he  interrupted  hastily,  you 
don't  understand.  You  don't  understand 
anything  of  what  I  mean  or  feel  or  want  to 
do  You  are  so  far  above  me,  so  beautiful, 
so  courted,  so  adored,  that  you  don't  realize 
how  I  have  come  to  turn  to  you  in 
every " 


^luHIN*  at^iii 


396 


GRISELDA 


"Stop!"  she  cried,  sprhiging  to  her  feet. 
"Stop !     I  can  hear  no  more. ' ' 

"You  shall  hear  more,"  he  said  fiercely, 
rising  and  stopping  the  way  as  she  would 
have  escaped  from  the  temple.  "You  shall 
hear  all.  You  shall  hear  how  I  cannot  live 
without  you,  how  I  must  keep  you  near  me, 

how  I  love  you,  how " 

"And  Griselda?"  she  cried  sternly. 
He     stopped    short,     silent,    perplexed, 
astounded. 

• '  Good  God ! "  he  breathed  at  last.    "What 
does  this  mean?" 

"Yes;  what  does  it  mean?"  she  insisted. 
He  brushed  his  hand  hastily  across  his 
brow  as  though  something  were  obscuring 
his  thought. 

"Tell  me,  Lady  Phillida,'"  he  said,  com- 
ing a  step  nearer,  "tell  me  what  all  this  is. 
I've  lost  my  way." 
"Or  is  it  that  you  are  finding  it?" 
"I    am  going   to    marry    Griselda,"  he 
went  on  as  though  stating  the  case  to  him- 
self.    "I   am   going  to  marry  her— it  has 
always  been  my  plan— because  she  bears  a 
great  name  and  holds  a  great  position,  and 
I  have  meant  to  rise  from  her  level  to  some- 
thing higher  still.     I  have  never  made  any 


ELDA 

spri:\ging  to  her  feet, 
o  more. ' ' 
lore,"  he  said  fiercely, 

the  way  as  she  would 
le  temple.  "You  shall 
hear  how  I  cannot  live 
nust  keep  you  near  me, 

ihe  cried  sternly. 

>rt,     silent,    perplexed, 

)reathedatlast.    "What 

it  mean?"  she  insisted, 
hand  hastily  across  his 
nething  were  obscuring 

Phillida,'"  he  said,  com- 
"tell  me  what  all  this  is. 

are  finding  it?" 
)  marry  Griselda,"  he 
stating  the  case  to  him- 
r  to  marry  her — it  has 
an — because  she  bears  a 
lids  a  great  position,  and 
e  from  her  level  to  some- 

I  have  never  made  any 


GRISELDA 


•91 


pretence  of  marrying  her  otherwise  than 
from  ambition;  and  now!-0  Eternal  God, 
what  a  miserable  fool  I've  been!" 

He  turned  from  her  and  walked  hurriedly 
across  the  temple.     Leaning  against  a  pillar 
he  looked  out  over  the    golden    flowered 
fields  beyond  the  wandering  herds  of  buffalo 
to  where  the  blue  band  of  the  Mediterra- 
nean bounded  the  horizon.      Lady  Phillida 
did  not  move.     A  long  half  hour  passed. 
She  waited  till  he  should  come  back  to  her. 
When  he  came  there  was  something  in  his 
face  that  she  had  never  seen  before.     There 
was  shock,  surprise,  and  something  else, 
something  indefinable,   indescribable,    like 
the    dawning    of    a   hope    for    some  new, 
undreamt-of  joy.    One  would  have  said  that 
the  Dagon  of  self-love  had  fallen,  and  that 
in  its  place  had  come  a  ray  of  light  from  the 

Ark  of  God. 
When  he  turned  from  the  pillar  he  came 

rapidly  towards  her. 

"You  too?"  he  said  hoarsely  and  in  the 
deep  demanding  voice  of  the  man  who  can- 
not yet  believe. 

She  understood  him. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  simply. 

There  was  a  long  moment  in  which  they 


T 


,58  GRISELDA 

read  each  other's  thoughts  in  each  other's 

*^^How  you  must  despise  me!"  he  said  at 

last. 
"No." 
"But  you  will  not  refuse  to  help  me?" 

"No." 

"And  you  will  never  leave  me? 

"No."  ,  I 

"Then,"  he  said,   taking  her    arm  and  J 
drawing  it  through  his,  "let  us  go  and  tell 

Griselda." 
And  so  they  left  the  temple. 


3ELDA 

loughts  in  each  other's 

despise  me!"  he  said  at 

refuse  to  help  me?" 
iver  leave  me?" 

a,   taking  her    arm  and 
1  his,  "let  us  go  and  tell 

the  temple. 


XVII 

As  Griselda  sat  that  evening  on  the  hotel 
balcony  at  Amalfi  she  wondered  what  had 
happened  to  her  two  friends  during  their 

visit  to  Pesto. 

She  had  met  them  with  the  carnage  at 
Salerno,  and  on  the  drive  from  that  place  to 
Amalfi  they  had  been  silent  and  pre-occu- 
pied     Graybum,  usually  vivacious  and  rest- 
lessly interested  in  all  he  saw,  had  sat  gazmg 
absently  into  the  distance,  heedless  of  the 
wonderful  vision  of  white  city  and  curvmg 
bay    wild  coast  line  and  blue  sea  which 
spread  itself  out  above,  below  and  around 
them.    Now  and  then  he  would  call  atten- 
tion to  some  party  of  peasants  who  left  their 
work  to  come  and  beg,  or  to  some  village 
sheltering  itself  in  the  recesses  of  a  lonely 
gorge,  but  he  did  so  apparently   without 
interest,  and  not  looking  the  second  time  at 
the  object  to  which  he  directed  them. 

Lady  Phillida,  too,  was  not  as  she  had 
been  during  their  month  of  travel.     She  had 
never  heretofore  been  without  a  certain  air 
899 


GRISELDA 


1 


300 

of  effort,  easily  evident  to  another  woman's 
eye.  To-day,  for  the  first  time  in  weeks, 
she  was  simply  herself.  She  took  no  more 
interest  in  the  beauty  of  the  scene  than  did 
Grayburn ;  she  appeared  to  be  dreaming;  the 
sense  of  having  to  play  a  part  seemed  to 
have  left  her;  one  would  have  said  that  she 
was  resting,  and  quietly  rejoicing. 

Griselda  had  noted  this  without  thinkmg 
much  about  it.      She  herself  had  been  so 
uplifted  by  the  splendors  of  earth,  sea,  and 
sky  that  she  had  no  mind  for  lesser  things. 
Tired  and  listless    as    she  had  been,   she 
had  felt  comforted  for  the  moment  in  the 
mingling  of  sublimity  and  loveliness  which 
excited  and  surprised  her  at  each  new  tvrn, 
as  the  road  climbed  and  curved  and  twisted 
its  way  along  the  steep  and  deeply  indented 
shore.      The  churches    and    galleries   had 
wearied  her;  they  had  had  no  balm  for  her 
wounds  nor  counsel  for  her  perplexity;  but 
here  in  this   abundant   nature,  rugged  in 
form,  flashing  with  color,  there  was  some- 
thing at  once  magnificent   and    maternal, 
stirring  yet  soothing,   exalted  yet  restful, 
something  which  gave  her  courage  and  made 
her    think  that    there    might  still  be  joy 
in  life. 


111.' 


^i.WKit*-;    r*   '  -J^  --,-• 


SELDA 

ent  to  another  woman's 
he  first  time  in  weeks, 
self.  She  took  no  more 
ty  of  the  scene  than  did 
ared  to  be  dreaming;  the 

play  a  part  seemed  to 
vould  have  said  that  she 
lietly  rejoicing. 
:ed  this  without  thinking 
3he  herself  had  been  so 
sndors  of  earth,  sea,  and 
)  mind  for  lesser  things. 

as    she  had  been,   she 
I  for  the  moment  in  the 
nity  and  loveliness  \vhich 
led  her  at  each  new  tvrn, 
i  and  curved  and  twisted 
iteep  and  deeply  indented 
xhes    and    galleries   had 
•  had  had  no  balm  for  her 
el  for  her  perplexity;  but 
ndant   nature,  rugged  in 
th  color,  there  was  some- 
agnificent   and    maternal, 
ling,   exalted  yet  restful, 
rave  her  courage  and  made 
there    might  still  be  joy 


GRISELDA 


301 


And  now,  as  she  sat  alone  on  the  balcony 
Jching  the  moonlight  ^m.^t^e^--^ 
taking  whiter  the  white  town  of  Atnalfi  far 
baow,'she  again  became  co-ou^;^^; 
tr^SSd^erttheHL  Sitting. 

™  fte  face  of  that  wHd  cliff;  but  almost 
tomediS  I^ady  PMllida   -^^  made  a^ 

excuse  to  retire  «  *- J°-' ,tf  to'S^e 
had   ffone  down  to  the  terrace   t 
rHseSr  could  see  him  now  pacmg  up  and 
Griselda  com  ^^  ^rbor,  whose 

down  under  the  long  viu 
.hite  pillars  looked  ,n  *at  UghUte  a  r^ 

XafUrameCrofB-'ashe^threw 

S  "er  the  cliff  towards  the  sea;  then  he 
entered  the  hotel.  ^ 

"Are  you  here,  Gnselda?     he  asueo,  « 
„int«  iLr.  as  he  opened  the  s.ttmg.room 

^°^Yes  ••  she  answered  from  the  balcony. 
I  xes,     =»"  There  never  was  such 

••Do  come  out  here,     mere  nev 
a  soring  night  since  the  world  was  made  at 
Us    not  in  my  large  and  long  exper^ence^ 
The  beauty  of  this  place  is  almost  too  great. 


,f-flS?i,'**ir:i'-.'«Vi«i; 


3oa  GRISELDA 

It  hurts  me  to  think  that  one  can't  keep  it 
and  have  it  everywhere;  and  that  all  the 
rest  of  life  isn't  made  to  correspond." 

"Perhaps  it  would  be,"  said  Grayburn, 
sitting  sidewise  on  the  parapet,  his  back  to  a 
pillar,  "if  it  were  not  for  our  own  mistakes." 
"At  last  I  feel  that  I  am  in  Italy,"  she 
said,  inattentive  to  the  remark  which  to  his 
mind  was  full  of    meaning.      "This  is  the 
Italy  one  dreams  about,  as  a  sort  of  earthly 
heaven.    This  is  the  Italy  of  Mignon's  mem- 
ories, and  Kennst  du  das  Land  wo  die  Cit- 
ronen  bliihn.     It  isn't   in    Florence;  it  isn't 
even  in  Naples ;  it  is  here.     The  Florence  of 
my  hopes  was  all  white  marble  palaces,  and 
terraces  strewn  with  flowers;  the  Naples  I 
had  dreamed  of  was  a  city  of  clean  and  pic- 
turesque  boatmen,   always    singing    Santa 
Lucia,  and  dancing  the  tarantella  at  the  foot 
of  a  mountain  spouting  fire.     It  is  needless 
to  say  that  neither  has  fulfilled  my  expecta- 
tions.    To-day  and  to-night  only  have  I  felt 
that  the  Italy  I  have  come  for  is  a  country 
that  exists." 

"Then  at  last  you  are  not  disappointed? 
"Look,"   she  said,    with   a  wide  gesture 
towards  the  view.     "Disappointment  here 
would  be  sacrilege." 


ELDA 

that  one  can't  keep  it 
ere;  and  that  all  the 
to  correspond." 

be,"  said  Grayburn, 
!  parapet,  his  back  to  a 
for  our  own  mistakes, 
it  I  am  in  Italy,"  she 
e  remark  which  to  his 
janing.  "This  is  the 
at,  as  a  sort  of  earthly 
taly  of  Mignon's  mem- 

das  Land  zvo  die  Cit- 
:  in  Florence;  it  isn't 
here.  The  Florence  of 
te  marble  palaces,  and 

flowers;  the  Naples  I 
a  city  of  clean  and  pic- 
always  singing  Satita 
he  tarantella  at  the  foot 
ng  fire.  It  is  needless 
as  fulfilled  my  expecta- 
:o-night  only  have  I  felt 
e  come  for  is  a  country 

are  not  disappointed?" 

,    with   a  wide  gesture 

"Disappointment  here 


GRISELDA 


303 


With  the  motion  of  her  hand  the  half^ 
circlet  of  diamonds,  which  Grayburn  had 
gTven  her  some  weeks  before,  as  symbol  of 
betrothal,  flashed  in  the  moonhght. 

'how  your  ring  flashes!"  Grayburn  said, 
♦ '  even  more  by  night  than  by  day. 

"Does  it?"  she  asked,  trymg  to  show 
interest,  and  folding  her  hand  back  upwards 
so  that  the  light  may  play  upon  the  stones^ 

"Would  you  like  me  to  take  it  off?    he 

^'^'ityou  like,"  she  answered  r^f^y^^\ 
inff  her  hand  towards  him.  But  it  s 
raLr  hard  to  put  on  again.     It  is  a  little 

^"ne  slipped  it  off,  and  her  hand  fell. 

"Suppose  I  did  not  put  it  on  agam? 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  don't  like  it,  that 
you  would  rather  give  me  another?    ^^ 

"No;  that  I  should  give  you  none. 

"Are  you  serious?" 

:'§ou  hurt  me  very  much.  You  told  me  a 
few  weeks  ago  that  I  treated  you  ^^^^^'^^^^ 
think  it  is  my  turn  to  say  so  ^o^'  ^ave 
I  aeain  given  you  cause  for  complaint?  I 
LTcenainly  tried  to  be  loyal  and  rue 
I  have  not  forgotten  what  you  said  of  honor, 


-^«fa-^5-«'V*iiftMSrt^^iiS^*^*^'^* 


,'iU?A!ii^?-"-'-^'" 


304 


GRISELDA 


It  stung  me  then  because  I  deserved  it;  but 
I  don't  think  I  have  deserved  it  since.  If 
you  wish  to  release  me  because  you  think  I 
cannot  live  up  to " 

"Suppose  I  wish  to  do  it  because  you  care 
for  some  one  else?" 

"Have  I  said  so  lately?" 

"Not  lately,  but " 

"Then  you  have  no  right  to  attribute  to 
me  what  I  have  tried  to  put  out  of  my 

heart." 

"Even  though  you  have  failed." 
"I  don't  admit  that  I  have  failed,"  she 
said  with  spirit,  her  quick  anger  beginning 
to  assert  itself,  "but  if  I  had  you  are  the 
last  person  living  to  tax  me  with  it  or  blame 
me  for  it." 

"Ba  that  as  it  may,  the  fact  remains " 

"The  fact  remains  that  I  have  kept  my 
word  to  you,  and  am  ready  to  keep  it  still. 
I  know  that  on  our  journey  I  have  not  been 
always  cheerful;  I  have  not  be»^n  always 
well.  The  traveling  has  tired  me,  and  I 
have  not  had  all  the  interest  in  sight-seeing 
that  I  ought;  but  beyond  that  I  have  done 
nothing  to  oflEend  you,  or  if  so,  it  has  not 
been  consciously.  I  have  tried  in  every- 
thing to  please  you." 


JELDA 

ause  T  deserved  it ;  but 
e  deserved  it  since.  If 
ne  because  you  think  I 

I  f 

0  do  it  because  you  care 
itely?" 

no  right  to  attribute  to 
ried  to  put  out  of  my 

ihave  failed." 

hat  I  have  failed,"  she 

quick  anger  beginning 
It  if  I  had  you  are  the 

tax  me  with  it  or  blame 

y,  the  fact  remains " 

IS  that  I  have  kept  my 
im  ready  to  keep  it  still, 
journey  I  have  not  been 

have  not  bef^.n  always 
ng  has  tired  me,  and  I 
5  interest  in  sight-seeing 
)eyond  that  I  have  done 
jrou,  or  if  so,  it  has  not 

I  have  tried  in  every- 


GRISELDA 


305 


"Though  not  with  a  very  light  heart.'' 
4ou    never    asked     me    for    a    light 

heart." 

"Unhappily,  I  did  not. 

"You  didn't  care." 

"Because  I  didn't  know." 

"And  may  I  ask  what  you  have  learned? 

"I  have  learned  that— love i^e 

word  came  from  him  hardly.  ...      ,.,.1- 

"That  love,"  she  interrupted,  with  a  little 
scornful  laugh,  "is  always^  tomans -n^^^ 
So  you  have  told  me;  but  Tat  least  nave 

^°?.rhaleVei"d  more  than  that.     I  know 
now^methingofwhatitis.andthatyou 

cannot  marry  me  feeling  as  you  do 
"And  therefore  you  are  ready  to  set  me 

free?"  .  _„  .  » 

"Yes     It  seems  to  me  I  must. 
"That  is  to  say,that  first  you  wouldmarry 

xne  against  my  will,  and  now  you  would 
Tekct  me  because  I  am  not  worthy  I  do 
Xho'setobe  treated  so.     Please  give  me 

nheTeS?- her  hand  imperiously  b.t^he 

only  took  it  in  his  own,  slipping  the  nng 

into  his  pocket.  , 

"Do  I  understand,"  he  asked,    that  you 


..^^^^^i^^mc^^^^^^''^'^-^^'^^^"'''^''"'"''^ 


»v=.£|i.Ct.1  r-,,Vi':t^*^- 


3o6 


GRISELDA 


insist  on  keeping  our  engagement  whether 
I  will  or  no?" 

"I  insist  on  paying  my  debt  to  you.     I 
will  not  be  released  through  either  scorn  or 

pity." 
"But  if  I  wanted  to  marry    some    one 

else?"  , 

"Then  you  would  do,  I  suppose,  exactly 
what  suited  your  own  interests.  Forgive 
me  if  the  words  seem  harsh.  I  state  the 
case  only  as  you  have  taught  me." 

"You  are  quite  right,"  he  said  calmly. 
"There  is  nothing  harsh  in  that.  I  expected 
some  such  retort,  and  have  been  leading  up 
to  it.  Do  you  remember,"  he  went  on  to 
ask,  leaving  the  parapet  and  taking  a  seat 
at  her  side,  "do  you  remember  that  man  m 
the  Bible  from  whose  eyes  there  fell  as  it 
had  been  scales?  Well,  I  have  been  going 
through  some  such  experience  as  that" 

"Since  when?"  Griselda  asked,  almost 
breathless,  wondering  if  liberty,  honorable 
liberty,  could  really  be  approaching. 

' '  Since  this  morning.  At  least  the  effects 
have  been  visible  since  then;  the  causes,  I 
suppose,  must  be  more  remote.  I  feel  very 
much  as  the  healed  blind  man  would  have 
felt  had  he,  on  looking  into  a  mirror  for  the 


ELDA 
engagement  whether 

r  my  debt  to  you.     I    I 
irough  either  scorn  or 

to  marry    some    one 

do,  I  suppose,  exactly 
rn  interests.  Forgive 
;m  harsh.     I  state  the 

taught  me." 
ght,"  he  said  calmly, 
rsh  in  that.  I  expected 
I  have  been  leading  up 
tnber,"  he  went  on  to 
ipet  and  taking  a  seat 

remember  that  man  in 
se  eyes  there  fell  as  it 
^ell,  I  have  been  going 
xperience  as  that" 
triselda  asked,  almost 
g  if  liberty,  honorable 
be  approaching, 
ig.  At  least  the  effects 
Qce  then;  the  causes,  I 
jre  remote.     I  feel  very 

blind  man  would  have 
ng  into  a  mirror  for  the 


GRISELDA 


S07 


first  time,   seen  himself  to   be    a  hideous 

"°"rdon't  say  that.     You  know  it  isn't 

''"^^It'is  true,  Griselda,"  he  said  tranquilly. 
"You  know  t  better  than  any  one;  but  you 
are?o  acLtomed  to  the  fact  that  I  .mag- 
vou  can  stand  it  better  than  I.     I  don  t 
exaggerate  when  I  say  it  is  a  shock  to  me 
the  worst  in  some  ways,  I  have  ever  had.    I 
scarry  know  how  to  tell  you  in  anyway 
thlt  vou  will  understand;  if  you  were  a  man 
i  dare  saTl  could  do  it  better.     Or  if  you 
Ld  Lady  PhiUida's  wonderful  gift  of  intux- 

*'°"  i^has  already  displayed  it  in  this  case, 

^"'S "  he  went  on,  unconscious  of  any 
?Jrv  meaning  in  Griselda's  words, 
secondary  J^f^^'^^'  ^^^  j  ^m  come  to 
"We  have  talked  a  little,  dui  1  wi 
that  by  and  by.  As  I  was  saymg,  I  have 
"to  see  myself  in  a  -w  light ;  I  sup- 
poSit  is  a  true  light,  for  it  ts  not  a  flatter- 

^  "iTk  Lady  Phillida  who  has  been  holding 
covery,  several  discoveries,  in  fact. 


',  1 

s 


IKf*.*)******!*!*!***-"*' 


,v*«^vii'?f:i-5*fcfe^-v^'«*«^^-^*'^  ■ 


3o8 


GRISELDA 


"Not  all  unpleasant  ones,  I  hope." 
"No,  but  the  unpleasant  are  the  more 
prominent  for  the  moment,  and  those  of 
which  I  must  talk  to  you  now.  I  have  been 
thinking  very  seriously  all  the  afternoon  as 
we  drove  up  from  Salerno;  and  I  feel  it 
right  to  say  that  I  know  as  well  as  you  do 
that  Botolph  Grayburn  is  a  heartless,  cow- 
ardly, unprincipled,  self-seeking  brute." 

"I  know  nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  cried 
indignantly,  springing  to  her  feet.  ' ' I  must 
ask  you  never  again  to  say  such  thmgs  m 
my  hearing." 

"Sit  down,  my  dear,  and  don't  contradict 
me  I  know  better  than  you.  You  may  feel 
sure  that  I  shouldn't  say  such  things  about 
myself  if  they  weren't  true. 

"I  cannot  think  what  you  mean,  or  what 
you  are  coming  to,"  she  said,  as  she  sat 
down  again. 

"I  am  coming  to  this,"  he  went  on,  in  a 
half-meditative  way,  "that  after  haying 
spent  the  best  part  of  my  life  in  thinking 
that  my  will  was  law  and  all  I  did  was  right, 
I  see  now  that  I  have  been  nothing  but  a 
strong  man  pushing  against  the  weak,  and 
taking  from  every  one  all  he  couldn't  hold.^ 
"You  exaggerate,"   she  cried.        Ones 


ELDA 

:  ones,  I  hope." 
leasant  are  the   more 
loment,  and   those  of 
^ou  now.     I  have  been 
y  all  the  afternoon  as 
ialerno;   and  I  feel  it 
now  as  well  as  you  do 
rn  is  a  heartless,  cow- 
lelf -seeking  brute." 
,f  the  kind,"  she  cried 
g  to  her  feet.    "I  must 
to  say  such  things  in 

X,  and  don't  contradict 

lan  you.     You  may  feel 

;  say  such  things  about 

•ttrue." 

hat  you  mean,  or  what 

"  she  said,  as  she  sat 

this,"  he  went  on,  in  a 
jT,  "that  after  having 
of  my  life  in  thinking 
r  and  all  I  did  was  right, 
ive  been  nothing  but  a 
r  against  the  weak,  and 
16  all  he  couldn't  hold." 
!."  she  cried.      "One's 


GRISELDA 


309 


own  self-judgment  is   often  the  most  ex- 
treme." ,  , 

"I  don't  exaggerate,  for  I  have  always 
had  some  little  suspicion  of  the  true  facts  of 
the  case.     I  suppose  it  was  my  conscience ; 
but  when  it  spoke  I  always  patted  myself 
on  the  back  and  said,  'You're  a  mighty  fine 
fellow,  genial,  jolly  and  generous,'  and  so  I 
went  on  thinking  of  nothing  but  my  own 
success  and  not  caring  who  was  trampled 
into  the  dust  as  long  as  I  reached  the  goal. 
That's  how    I've   got   rich.     That's   how 
you've  got  rich.    We  can't  help  it  now ;  the 
money   is   there,   and    belongs   to   us.     It 
couldn't  be  given  up  now,  even  if  there  was 
an  owner  who  could  prove  a  better  right  to 
it  than  we.     I  only  state  the  fact,  that  it  has 
come  to  me,  as  everything  else  has  come 
because  I  never  gave  a  thought  to  what  it 
cost  to  others  so  long  as  the  success  was 
mine.     I  have  swaggered  and  bragged  and 
fought  my  way  along,  making  other  people 
follow  in  my  wake  because  I  took  from 
them  the  means  to  resist  me.     And  that  s 
how  I  would  have  married  you,  Griselda.    ^^ 

"You  have  always  been  very  kind  to  me, 
she  said,  trying  to  speak  gently,  but  feehng 
the  truth  of  his  words. 


,,jatffgiafcg»rt(»M»«giitf»  n-^ 


^i.',:^tuii-'^i--'s*--'"-'''-' 


310 


GRISELDA 


-When  there  was  no  reason  to  be  other- 
wise  It  was  scarcely  kindness  to  insist  on 
Xying  you  from  motives  of  ambtion.  and 

against  what  I  knew  to  be  yo^^^^"; 
"And  -why  have  you  changed  your  mind 

80  suddenly?"  .    ,        .. 

"Because  I  have  fallen  in  love. 

"I  fancied  that  was  it." 

"You  suspected ■" 

"We  could  scarcely  travel  together  as  we 
have  done  for  the  past  month,  to  say  nothing 
of  our  life  since  August  last,  without  my 

'' "  Ye^he  asked  eagerly,  as  she  hesitated 

for  a  word.  ^^ 

"Much  that  perplexed  me. 

"Then  why  didn't  you  tell  me? 

"Ter  you  what?" 

"Tel,  me  that  I  was  in  love." 

"People  generally  find  that  out  for  them- 

'%^  never  should  have  found  out  anything 
of  the  kind,"  he  said  with  conviction  not 
any  more  than  I  should  have  discovered  that 
the  back  of  my  head  was  turmng  gray. 

"Then  if  I  am  not  too  cunous  may  1  asJc 
who  told  you?" 

"Lady  Phillida  of  course. 


ELDA 

no  reason  to  be  other- 
y  kindness  to  insist  on 
lotives  of  ambition,  and 
to  be  your  will." 
ou  changed  your  mind 

lUen  inlove." 
s  it." 

ly  travel  together  as  we 
St  month,  to  say  nothing 
uiust  last,  without  my 

eagerly,  as  she  hesitated 

lexedme." 

t  you  tell  me?" 

I 

vas  in  love." 

y  find  that  out  for  them- 

have  found  out  anything 
aid  with  conviction,  "not 
ould  have  discovered  that 
id  was  turning  gray." 
not  too  curious  may  I  ask 

3f  course." 


GRISELDA 


3" 


••Told  you  that  you  were  in  love?" 

••Not  in  so  many  words.  She  made  me 
see  it;  or  rather  I  made  her  see " 

•'That,  in  short,  you  were  in  love." 

••Unconsciously." 

••And  that  therefore " 

••No,  it  was  I  who  drew  the  conclu- 
sions.  '  There  was  no  therefore  in  what  she 

said." 
••And  your  first  conclusion  was  that  you 

must  set  me  free." 

•'No,  that  was  the  second  only.     The  tirst 
was  that  I  myself  was  a  selfish  beast,  who 
had  taken  mean  advantages  of  all  mankind, 
and  especially  of  you. " 
••And  your  third." 
'•That  I  should  be  punished." 
••How?" 

••I  don't  know.  I  wish  I  did.  Can't  you 
suggest  something?  The  worst  of  the  pres- 
ent position  is  that  in  giving  you  your  liberty 

I  seem  to  do  so  in  order  to  secure " 

•  •  Something  better  still. ' ' 
••Precisely,"  he  cried,  spreading  out  his 
hands  with  a  gesture  of  perplexity. 
Griselda  laughed. 

••So  that  the  penance  doesn't  seem  suffi- 
ciently severe?" 


,i»ei*H»is^W->S»W!«»«*'^'"*'* 


3,a  GRISELDA 

•'It  is  no  penance  whatever;  on  the  con- 
trary it  is But  I  feel  that  I  ought  first 

to  pass  through  purgatory  rather  than  go 
straight  to  heaven." 

"In  love,  they  say,  heaven  is  often  the 
first  stage,  purgatory  but  the  second." 

"That  will  never  be  so  here." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"I  am  the  man  born  blind  who  knows 

only  that  he  sees. " 

"That  one  should  be  blind  on  such  a  mat- 
ter seems  to  me  incredible." 

"And  to  me  also  now.     But  the  fact  is, 
Griselda,  I  am  a  man  of  only  one  idea  at  a 
time      If   I    am    running  towards  a   goal 
to-day  I  don't  drop  out  of  the  race  to  con- 
aider  where  I  am  going  to  dine  to-morrow. 
When  I  have  a  purpose  in  mind  I  think  of 
that  thing  only;  when  it  is  done,  andnot 
till  then  do  I  take  up  something  else.    When 
I  was  in  America  I  was  bent  on  growing  rich. 
When  I  returned  to  England  I  was  given  up 
to  winning  your  rights  for  you.     Since  com- 
ing here  to  Italy  I  have  had  all  I  could  do 
in  keeping  up  with  the  courier  and  seeing 
what  isn't  to  be  seen  elsewhere.     I  thought 
no  more  of  being  in  love  than  of  having  the 
lumbago.     If  it  had  not  been  for  Lady  Phil- 


LDA 

trhatever;  on  the  con- 
;eel  that  I  ought  first 
itory  rather  than  go 

heaven  is  often  the 
3ut  the  second." 
so  here." 

,rn  blind  who  knows 

e  blind  on  such  a  mat- 
iible." 

low.     But  the  fact  is, 
of  only  one  idea  at  a 
ining  towards  a    goal 
lut  of  the  race  to  con- 
ing to  dine  to-morrow. 
30se  in  mind  I  think  of 
;n  it  is  done,  and  not 
something  else.    When 
is  bent  on  growing  rich. 
England  I  was  given  up 
ts  for  you.     Since  com- 
ave  had  all  I  could  do 
the  courier  and  seeing 
.  elsewhere.     I  thought 
love  than  of  having  the 
not  been  for  Lady  Phil- 


GRISELDA 


313 


lida  I  never  should  have  known  it.  I  should 
have  gone  straight  on,  and  you  and  I  should 
have  been  married  in  Rome." 

"And  if  you  had  found  out  your  mistake 
afterwards?    What  then?" 

"I   shouldn't   have    found   it    out.     She 
would  never  have  told  me." 

"I  think  you  are  hardly  as  dependent  on 
Lady  Phillida  as  that." 

"I  am  dependent  on  her  for  everything. 
It  is  simply  unimaginable.  I  who  have 
always  been  sufficient  to  myself  am  as  help- 
less without  her  as  a  man  without  his  hand. 
It  would  be  an  absurdity  if  it  were  not  such 
a " 

'*J°y" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "such  a  joy;  but  one  I  do 
not  deserve." 

Griselda  rose  and  throwing  her  arm  about 
his  neck,  stooped  and  kissed  him.  It  was 
the  first  time  she  had  done  so  since  the  day 
of  his  arrival  at  Lomond  Lodge. 

"You  make  me  very,  very  happy,"  she 
said;  "and  I  know  that  you  will  both  be 
happy  too.  Our  marriage  could  never  have 
been  other  than  one  made  on  earth;  this 
will  be  of  the  sort  that  is  made  in  heaven." 
"And  you  forgive  me?" 


i.-.*«i*J-iA''«^'Jf-f*S^|tft.-5:^ 


4t^^v?^-*ite*«4*«*e^--'^^'^-  "-'^-^ 


3,4  GRISELDA 

"Yes,  but  only  on  conditions.    I  am  going 
to  inflict  your  penance." 
"Which  is?"  ^  ,  ^         . 

"That  you  take  tne  back  and  let  tne  be 
with  you  as  I  was  when  a  little  girl.  Let 
Te  live  with  you  and  Lady  Phillida.  I  have 
nobody  in  the  world  but  you.  I  want  a 
Some  I  want  to  feel  that  I  belong  to  some 
one  and  that  some  one  belongs  to  me^ 

He  drew  down  the  hand  that  rested  on  hts 
shoulder  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips.^ 

"I  think  we  can  arrange  that,  he  said 
"for  we  all  three  belong  together.  There 
are  some  ties  stronger  than  those  of  bloody 
You're  a  good  girl.  Griselda.  and  I  am  very 
fond  of  you.  But  I  don't  believe  you  will 
want  to  stay  with  us  long.  Lomond  Lodge 
Td  House  of  Tulloch  will  soon  have  not 

^^Z^X^-   "Someone 

"-^^^^m^r   Orayburn   said 
rising    and    looking    back    into   the    unht 

'Ts  the  slender,  white-robed  figure  ad- 
vanced through  the  dusk  of  the  apartment 
Griselda  went  to  meet  her.  ,  , .  „   i,„- 

"I  know,"    the    girl    said,    takmg   her 


ELDA 

onditions.    I  am  going 


e  back  and  let  me  be 
■hen  a  little  girl.  Let 
.  Lady  Phillida.  I  have 
i  but  you.  I  want  a 
il  that  I  belong  to  some 
le  belongs  to  me. " 
hand  that  rested  on  ht3 
I  it  to  his  lips, 
arrange  that,"  he  said, 
lelong  together.  There 
rer  than  those  of  blood. 
Griselda,  and  I  am  very 
I  don't  believe  you  will 
5  long.  Lomond  Lodge 
och  will  soon  have  not 

a  mast " 

I  whispered.    "Someone 

lillida,"    Grayburn   said, 
g    back    into   the    unlit 

white-robed  figure  ad- 
le  dusk  of  the  apartment 
leet  her. 

girl    said,    taking   her 


GRISELDA 


315 


friend's  two  hands  in  hers.     "I  am  so  glad 

"And  I,""  said  Lady  Phillida,  "for  yours 

^''-C^me"  and  sit  here,"  cried  Grayburn 
••Come   and    enjoy    with    us   this    perfect 

""^  SUently  then  they  sat    down   together 
listening  to  the  breaking  of  the  waves,  and 
watching  the  wonder,  ever  new  of  the  moon- 
light  shining  on  the  sea  and  lightmg  up  the 
white  walls  of  the  town. 


;<*r<b  >r<*o>^  -^r*i^- 


XVIII 

It  was  only  little  by  little  that  Griselda 
began  to  rejoice  in  the  fact  that  she  was 
free.     At  fi'  t  she  felt  as  if  she  had  not 
strength  enough  to   care.     In    renouncing 
one  man  and  accepting  another  she   had 
forced  her  nature  to  such  a  degree  that  now 
it  was  as  if  she  had  no  more  power  to  feel. 
Months  of  emotion  had  drained  her  strength ; 
weeks  of  silent  conflict  with  self  had  left  her 
subdued  but  apathetic.     She  did  not  pre- 
tend to  be  otherwise  than  glad  to  have  her 
liberty;  only  she  was  not  ecstatic ;  now  that 
she  possessed  her  freedom  she  seemed  to 
prize  it  less  than  she  had  supposed. 

It  was  not  until  they  came  to  Rome  that 
something  of  her  old  buoyancy  returned. 
Mental  peace  brought  physical  repose;  rest 
induced  strength;  strength  induced  serenity. 
For  the  first  time  since  they  had  left  England 
she  was  allowed  to  do  as  she  pleased.  In 
Rome  there  was  so  much  to  see  that  Gray- 
bum  thought  it  impossible  to  see  anything. 
For  the  moment  he  had  other  occupations; 

3'6 


GRISELDA 


3»7 


III 

by  little  that  Griselda 
:he  fact  that  she  was 
elt  as  if  she  had  not 
care.     In    renouncing 
ing  another  she    had 
iuch  a  degree  that  now 
lo  more  power  to  feel, 
a  drained  her  strength ; 
;t  with  self  had  left  her 
;ic.     She  did  not  pre- 
than  glad  to  have  her 
i  not  ecstatic;  now  that 
•eedom  she  seemed  to 
had  supposed, 
hey  came  to  Rome  that 
Id   buoyancy  returned. 
It  physical  repose;  rest 
•ength  induced  serenity. 
;e  they  had  left  England 
do  as  she  pleased.     In 
much  to  see  that  Gray- 
ossible  to  see  anything, 
had  other  occupations; 
316  . 


he  said  that  for  sight-seemg  he  would 
return  Lady  PhiUida  had  numerous  en- 
'agements  in  the  Roman  soc  al  world 
S  she  had  long  held  a  Po-tton  °f  ^^^^^^ 
Auction.  Griselda  was  therefore  left  "luch 
nielf.  and  was  glad  c.  her  sol^^^^^^ 

She  spent  hours  m  St.    Feter  s,   .i" 
l^aS  churches;  *e-ana«ed  through  the 

tis^^ef^/r^o^rars. 

pany  and  countenance,  and  drove  m  he 
Vma  Borghese  or  out  to  the  Jamculum 
HUl  now  and  then  she  ventured  on  the 
Piiclan,  but  rarely  unless  accompanied  by 

^td''ras%he  bright  spring  days  sped 
iw  she  Sssed  intr  something  approaching 
pLfe  'inThe  long  hours  of  loneliness  she 
Tegan  to  feel  her  spirit  «P--g^"|jf;^f  f;. 

liWe  erass  refreshed  by  rain.     She  read  re 
like  grass  rcn  j  ^  ^ 


3i8 


GRISELDA 


her  life ;  that,  she  told  herself,  never  could 
be  satisfied;  but,  because  she  was  young, 
she  unconsciously  fed  herself  with  hope. 

As  the  time  drew  near  for  going  back  to 
England  •  she    found    herself   dreading   to 
return.     In    a   foreign    country  she  could 
remain  obscure ;  in  England  she  was  already 
a  person  of  some  prominence.     The  fash- 
ionable journals  recorded  her  movements 
and  kept  referring  to  what  they  called  her 
romantic  history.    The  title,  which  she  tried 
to  bear  with  outward  dignity,  seemed  to  her 
inner  consciousness,  cumbrous  if  not  ridicu- 
lous.   It  rendered  her  conspicuous,  and  made 
her  feel  that  she  was  passing  under  a  name 
that  was  not  hers.     In  her  own  thought  she 
was  still  Griselda  Grant,  the  girl  who  had 
lived  in  loneliness  and  obscurity.     To  be 
Countess  of  Lomond,  and  yet  not  Nigel's 
wife,  seemed  not  only  anomalous  but  almost 
odious.     In  her  mind  the  name  of  Lomond 
was  bound  up  with  the  man  who,  during  her 
acquaintance  with  him,  had  always  borne  it. 
For  her  to  assume  it  seemed  unmaidenly; 
to  discard  it  now,  impossible. 

Thus,  the  seclusion  in  which  she  lived  in 
Rome  was  all  the  pleasanter  from  the 
knowledge  that  it  soon  must  cease.    The 


ec 
Oi 
th 
es 
b< 

Pl 
w 
d( 
E 
n 
1( 


LDA 

herself,  never  could 
use  she  was  young, 
lerself  with  hope, 
ar  for  going  back  to 
herself  dreading  to 
I  country  she  could 
jland  she  was  already 
minence.  The  fash- 
•ded  her  movements 
what  they  called  her 

title,  which  she  tried 
lignity,  seemed  to  her 
mbrous  if  not  ridicu- 
onspicuous,  and  made 
)assing  under  a  name 

her  own  thought  she 
mt,  the  girl  who  had 
id  obscurity.     To  be 

and  yet  not  Nigel's 
anomalous  but  almost 
the  name  of  Lomond 
I  man  who,  during  her 
,  had  always  borne  it. 

seemed  unmaidenly; 
jssible. 

in  which  she  lived  in 
pleasanter  from  the 
on  must  cease.    The 


GRISELDA 


3»9 


end  came  even  earlier  than  she  expected. 
One  morning  intimation  was  received  that 
the  Queen  would  privately  receive  the  Count- 
ess of  Lomond,  whose  grandfather  had  long 
been  a  member  of  the  Court.     Griselda  was 
pleased  but  frightened.     After  a  conference 
with  Grayburn  and  Lady  Phillida  it  was 
decided  that  they  should  return  at  once  to 
England,  in    order    that   the    presentation 
might  be  made  before  Her  Majesty  should 
leave  Windsor. 

Griselda  therefore  prepared  to  say  good- 
bye to  Rome.  She  revisited  all  her  favorite 
haunts,  and  drank  at  the  fountain  of  Trevi 
in  order  to  be  sure  of  coming  back  again. 
Her  last  farewell  she  meant  to  take  from 
the  terrace  of  the  Pincian  Gardens. 

She  prepared  for  this  act  with  much  sen- 
timent and  some  solemnity;  and  on  the 
afternoon  preceding  their  departure  she 
went  forth  on  foot  and  alone.  Leaving  the 
hotel  in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna  she  went  up  the 
Spanish  Steps,  as  far  as  the  broad  terrace  be- 
low the  Piazza  della  Santa  Trinitk  de'  Monti. 
Here  she  paused  for  breath  and  turned  in- 
stinctively to  look  at  the  scene  below. 

It  was  the  hour  when  the  Romans  begin 
to  come  out  for  the  afternoon.     A  deep  roar 


i  ,,*to^-—tf^-«e«'< 


3„  GRISELDA 

of  traffic,  so  steady  as  to  pass  unheeded 
came  up  the  Via  de'  Condott.  from  the 
Corso  Across  the  uneven  pavement  of  tlie 
Piazza  di  Spagna  an  increasing  procession 
of  carriages  rolled,  passing  on  through  the 
7ia  Babuino  and  the  Piazza  del  Popolo 
Upwards  the  Pincian  Hill. 

As  Griselda  gazed  downwards  the  great 
stairway   itself   was  bright   with  color  and 
sunshine.       Broken     flowers,     accidentally 
dropped  here  and  there,  gave  touches  of 
warm  tint  to  the  worn,  gray  stone.     On  and 
against  the  parapets  picturesque   peasants 
were   lounging   and    laughing.      Now    and 
then  a  beggar  woman,  brown  and  prema^ 
turely  old,  put  on  her  professional  whine 
and  stretched  out  her   wrinkled    hand,  as 
some    chance    foreigner   came   vr^thin    her 
sphere  of  action.     A  little  lower  than  Gns- 
elda   a  black-eyed,    black-bearded,  fiercely 
handsome  contadino,  wearing  a  green  cor- 
duroy  coat,  a  crimson  waistcoat,  and  sheep- 
skin trousers,  stood,  looking  gravely  down 
on  the  centre  of  modern  Rome ;  just  as,  ages 
ago,  some  wanderer  from  Gaul  or  Britain 
,night  have  surveyed  from  the  Jemple  of 
Castor  and  Pollux  the  traffic  and  splendor 
of  the  Forum. 


lELDA 

as  to  pass  unheeded, 
le*  Condotti  from  the 
ineven  pavement  of  the 
a  increasing  procession 
passing  on  through  the 
:he    Piazza    del    Popolo 

Hill. 

d  downwards  the  great 
i  bright   with  color  and 
I     flowers,     accidentally 
there,  gave  touches  of 
)rn,  gray  stone.     On  and 
■ts  picturesque   peasants 
a    laughing.      Now    and 
man,  brown  and  prema- 
her  professional  whine 
her   wrinkled    hand,  as 
iigner   came   within    her 
A  little  lower  than  Gris- 
i,    black-bearded,  fiercely 
no,  wearing  a  green  cor- 
son  waistcoat,  and  sheep- 
Dd,  looking  gravely  down 
odern  Rome;  just  as,  ages 
rer  from  Gaul  or  Britain 
;yed  from  the  Temple  of 
X  the  traffic  and  splendor 


GRISELDA 


3«i 


Around  the  boat-shaped  fountain  of  Ber- 
nini were  banks  of  flowers;  and  on  the 
heads  of  apparently  acrobatic  vendors  bas- 
kets of  blossom  swirled  and  turned,  with  an 
effect  at  once  lovely  and  fantastic.  Here 
were  crimson  stocks  and  gold-colored  daffo- 
dils; here,  purple  irises  and  yellow  roses; 
while  elsewhere  heads  were  crowned  with 
revolving  domes  of  violets,  or  masses  of 
pink  carnations. 

Not  less  striking  to  the  eye  was  a  black 
and  white  procession  of  Dominicans,  who 
passed  swiftly  and  silently  down  the  Steps, 
and  turned  towards  the  Via  de'   due  Ma- 
celli;  and  a  long  line  of  scarlet  robed  Ger- 
man  ecclesiastics,  descending  the  Via  de 
Condotti,  looked  to  Griselda  like  a  distant 
flock  of  migrating  tropical  birds. 
"Won't  you  speak  to  me?" 
"Oh,  Lord  Lomond,  how  you  frightened 

She  turned  with  a  start  as  he  raised  his 
hat;  but  the  words  had  not  passed  her  lips 
before  she  was  conscious  of  her  mistake. 

"You  will  shake  hands  with  me?"  he 
asked,  taking  no  notice  of  her  error  in  title. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  crimson  with  con- 
fusion but  holding  out  her  hand.     "I  have 


,^-^_^t--.     ^:-„*5.-«J#*™'*"'**' 


I 


3„  GRISELDA 

iust  been  thinking  of  you,"  she  went  on  in 
her  hurry  to  recover  herself  and  say  some- 
thing.    "No,  no ;  I  mean  of  some  one  else.  ^ 
'I  am  sorry  the  honor  wasn't   mine, 
Glenorchie  said  with  an  easy  laugh.     "Per- 
haps I  have  better  luck  on  other  occasions? 

The  absence  of  any  appearance  of  em- 
barrassment on  his  part  helped  Griselda  to 
regain  her  self-control. 

"How  did  you  come  here?"  she  asked, 
making  a  strong  effort  to  treat  the  meeting 
as  an  ordinary  one.     "I  didn't  see  you. 

•'I  came  down  the  Steps  behind  you.  1 
recognized  you  from  up  there  in  tJie  Piazza 
di  Santa  Trinitk.  I  hope  you  dou  t  mmd 
my  intruding  on  you?" 

"On  the  contrary,"  she  said,  trying  not 
to  blush  again.  "I  think  it  very  kmd.  If 
you  hadn't  done  so  I  should  not  have  seen 
you-  for  we  leave  Rome  to-morrow." 
"So  soon?  1  knew  you  were  here." 
"Really?  We  have  been  living  so  quietly 
that  I  thought  we  had  escaped  notice." 

"I  saw  you  yesterday,  passing  the  Palazzo 
Barberini    with    your  husb with    Mr. 

Grayburn."  j,  ,>   u 

"Mr.  Grayburn  is  not  my  husband,    sne 
said,  flushing  in  spite  of  herself. 


P< 
tc 

n 

S( 

e 

I 

t 


I 


GRISELDA 


3«3 


;ELDA 

■  you,"  she  went  on  in 
herself  and  say  some- 

nean  of  some  one  else." 
honor  wasn't  mine," 
an  easy  laugh.  "Per- 
ick  on  other  occasions?" 
iny  appearance  of  em- 
part  helped  Griselda  to 

:ol. 

ome  here?"  she  asked, 

jrt  to  treat  the  meeting 

"I  didn't  see  you. " 
he  Steps  behin(i  you.    I 
a  up  there  in  tJie  Piazza 
I  hope  you  don't  mind 

u?" 

y,"  she  said,  trying  not 

■  think  it  very  kind.  If 
)  I  should  not  have  seen 
Rome  to-morrow." 

ew  you  were  here, 
ave  been  living  so  quietly 
had  escaped  notice." 
irday,  passing  the  Palazzo 
'our  husb with    Mr. 

is  not  my  husband,"  she 
pite  of  herself. 


"Oh!"  he  breathed  with  evident  surprise. 
"I  understood " 

••Mr  Graybum  and  Lady  PhiUida  Wim- 
pole  are  to  be  married  as  soon  as  we  return 

to  London."  ,,<...  u^a 

She  tried  to  speak  as  though  the  fact  had 
no  consequence  to  either  Glenorchie  or  her- 
self; but  her  voice  trembled,  and  she  was 
evidently  unnerved. 

"Then  I  have  been  mismformed.  i  must 
beg  your  pardon  for  having  made  such  a 

blunder."  .        .         ^ 

"It  is  not  your  fault,  it  is  mine.  I  am 
glad  you  have  spoken  of  it  because  it  gives 
me  the  opportunity  to  say  somethmg  I  have 
long  wished  to  tell  you.  I  seize  this  chance 
because  I  may  never  have  another.  You 
remember  our  last  meeting?" 
"I  am  not  likely  to  forget  it." 

"And  our  last  parting?" 

He  bowed.  ,      •  ^  *^ 

"I  have  deeply  regretted  what  I  said  to 
you  then,"  she  went  on,  doing  her  best  to 
be  calm  "  I  was  overwrought  and  unstrung. 
I  had  no  motives  for  revenge.  If  I  thought  so 
at  the  time  I  have  seen  my  error  since.  For 
whatever  else  I  can  justify  myself,  for  that  at 
least  I  must  ask  your  pardon  very  humbly. 


3*4 


GRISELDA 


She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his,  but  immediately 
looked  away  again,  gazing  down  on  the 
revolving  bits  of  color  in  the  Piazza  below. 
"If  I  say  that  I  forgive  you,"  he  said 
gravely  "it  is  because  I  feel  that  I  have 
something  to  forgive.  At  that  moment  you 
were  not  just  to  me.  I  will  not  go  back  to 
what  took  place  that  night  at  Lomond 
Lodge;  I  will  only  say  that  if  I  hesitated 
then  it  was  not  for  any  of  the  motives  you 
ascribed  to  me," 

* '  I  know,  • '  she  said  gently.  * '  I  know  that 
you  have  never  been  anything  but  a  loyal 
and  high-minded  gentleman.  I  can  never 
cease  to  repent  of  the  pain  I  have  given 
you  I  have  come  into  your  life  only  to 
make  it  wretched.  I  have  taken  from  you 
what  you  could  have  kept  but  for  me,  and 

what  you  have  far  more " 

"No,  not  that,"  he  interposed  hastily. 
"There  you  were  right.  If  we  had  married 
each  other  and  I  had  learned  afterwards  who 
you  were  it  would  have  pained  me  exceed- 
ingly.  It  would  have  been  too  late  to  rectify 
matters  then,  and  I  should  have  felt  for  the 
rest  of  my  life  that  I  was  living  under  false 
pretences." 
"I  never  meant  that  you  should  know— 


ce 
th 
e^ 
iY 
ol 

tl 

I 
f; 

h 

0 


ELDA 

;o  his,  but  immediately 
gazing  down  on  the 
ir  in  the  Piazza  below, 
forgive  you,"  he  said 
se  I  feel  that  I  have 
At  that  moment  you 
I  will  not  go  back  to 
lat  night  at  Lomond 
say  that  if  I  hesitated 
iny  of  the  motives  you 

gently.  "I  know  that 
a  anything  but  a  loyal 
ntleman.  I  can  never 
:he  pain  I  have  given 
into  your  life  only  to 
[  have  taken  from  you 

e  kept  but  for  me,  and 

*  t 
ore^ 

he  interposed  hastily. 
;ht.  If  we  had  married 
learned  afterwards  who 
ave  pained  me  exceed- 
e  been  too  late  to  rectify 
should  have  felt  for  the 
[  was  living  under  false 


that  you  should  know— 


GRISELDA 


3*8 


certainly  not  until  my  love  had  assured  you 
that  all  that  was  mine  was  yours.     I  meant 
even  more  than  that.     I  wanted  you  to  feel 
that  I  had  no  conception  of  place  for  myself 
other  than  that  which  you  would  give  me. 
My  greatest  happiness  lay  in  the  thought 
that  I  was  an  unknown  girl  whom  your  love 
was  lifting  to  your  level.     The  only  honors 
I  wanted  were  those  I  should  have  received 
from  you.     It  seems  strange  to  you,  per- 
haps, that  I  should  speak  like  thia.     It  is 
only  because  we  are  so  widely  separated  that 
all  explanations  have  become  possible 

-Yes,"  he  said,  "I  understand.  We  are 
so  far  apart  now  that  we  can  speak  treely 

'•And  it  is  best  that  we  should  do  so,  for 
at  least  this  once,  before  it  is  too  late  " 

"It  certainly  will  help  us  to  think  more 
justly  of  each  other.  After  you  are  mar- 
ried  •' 

"Or  you,"  she  said. 

••Or  I  ••  he  assented,  "it  will  be  impossi- 
ble to  speak  with  open  heart,  therefore  we 
ought  to  hide  nothing  from  each  other  now. 
Are  you  going  on?  If  so,  perhaps  we  might 
walk  a  little  way  together?" 

••I  was  going  to  the  Pincian,    she  said 
turning  towards  the  second  flight  of  steps. 


336 


GRISELDA 


..If  you  will  come  with  me  I  shall  be  very 

glad."  .       ,„ 

"Are  you  staying  near  here? 

..Mr  Grayburn  is  at  the  Grand  Hotel  but 
Lady  PhUlid'a  and  I  are  just  below  at  the 

^^.tu^^rM^'anandlareyournear 
neighbors  then.  We  are  just  beyond  he 
Spanish  Steps,  at  the  Hotel  de  Londres. 

"Look,-  said  Griselda.  as  th«y  went 
slowly  upwards.  "How  the  obe Usk  of  Pms 
VI  stands  out  against  that  stainless  blue! 
I  ov  to  see  it  so,  Hanked  by  the  two  pale 
owers  of  Santa  Trinitk.  as  it  s  from  jus 
tWs  point  of  view.     And  then  it  is  so  old! 

t  seems  to  stand  for  the  world's  hoary  past; 
while  the  church  behind  it  speaks  of  eter- 

^^^^rdTeTdens  of  the  Vina  Medici 

^XL^;  ITrer=e\o  you. 

Thev  always  do  so  to  me. 

"^'^Sothin'g  suggests  romance  to  me  now^ 

All  I  see  is  commonplace,  and  all  I  read  is 

pM»e," 
"That  is  my  fault.'  ^  ' 

"Rather  my  misfortune." 
..Why  don't  you  say  our  misfortune? 


.vtw.jrgiA«t«*i-'ayW«g^^ 


.iri.crSrni^'^*^^*^^  i»si.>^>&-.V=" 


2LDA 

h  me  I  shall  be  very 

:ar  here?" 

t  the  Grand  Hotel,  but 

«e  just  below  at  the 

I  and  I  are  your  near 
i  are  just  beyond  the 
Hotel  de  Londres." 
iselda,  as  they  went 
ow  the  obelisk  of  Pius 
5t  that  stainless  blue! 
ranked  by  the  two  pale 
nitk,  as  it  is  from  just 

And  then  it  is  so  old! 

the  world's  hoary  past; 
ihind  it  speaks  of  eter- 

IS  of  the  Villa  Medici 

they  represent?" 

gest    romance    to  you? 

0  me." 

ts  romance  to  me  now. 

iplace,  and  all  I  read  is 


ortune.' 

say  our  misfortune?' 


GRISELDA 


3»7 


"I  will  say  it  if  you  like.  I  think  you 
share  the  regret.  It  is  a  curious  fate  that 
you  and  I  who  loved  each  other  should  have 
been  cut  asunder  just  like  this. ' '  ^  _ 

"I  want  to  make  a  further  explanation, 
she  said,   as   they    reached   the  Piazza  di 
Santa  Trinitk  de'  Monti.     "I  have  told  you 
that  I  had  no  real  motive  of  revenge  in 
doing  what  I  did,  and  yet  I  had  a  reason 
which  must  always  have  been  imperative.    I 
had  to  prove  my  mother's  honor.     As  long 
as  it  was  not  questioned  I  could  have  left  the 
subject  to  silence.     When  it  had  once  come 
under  discussion  I  had  no  choice  but  to  go 
on  to  the  bitter  end.     You  can  understand 
that,  I  know.    I  want  you  to  do  me  the  jus- 
tice  to  think  that  nothing  I  could  gain  for 
myself  would  have  been  reason  enough  for 
the  extreme  measures  I  was  obliged  to  take 
A  mother's  name  is  like  nothing  else.    1  had 
to  clear  it;  and  I  could  not  do  so  without 
renouncing  you.     There  are  claims  to  which 
even  love  itself  must  give  way.     You  see 
that  don't  you?    I  want  you  to  think  of  me 
in  the  future  not  as  of  one  who  was  moved 
by  pride  or  ambition  or  selfish  desire  of 
gain     I  admit  that  for  a  little  while  I  was 
stirred  by  anger,  but  of  that  I  have  re- 


328 


GRISELDA 


pented.  Behind  that  there  was  a  sacred 
duty  for  doing  which  I  cannot  repent  even 
though  it  means  that  you  and  I  must  always 

'^tTsufficient  to  think  of  what  I  would 
sacrifice  for  my  mother  to  understand  what 
you  would  give  up  for  yours." 
"Then  you  have  no  hard  fceUng  against 

me?" 

"None  " 

"Are  you  saying  that  only  to  please  me?" 

"I  am  saying  it  on  my  soul." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  with  the  strong 
and  simple  sincerity  which  instantly  earned 
Glenorchie's  mind  back  to  the  night  of  their 
pledge  of  trust  at  Lomond  Lodge. 

They  walked  on  for  a  little  while  in 
silence.  Under  the  trees  near  the  Villa 
Medici  they  stopped  to  look  at  the  vista  of 
St.  Peter's,  framed  in  an  arch  of  ilex-green, 
and  then  they  moved  on  again. 

By  this  time  the  crowd  was  steadily 
increasing.  It  seemed  as  if  a  large  part  of 
the  Roman  population  were  being  drawn  by 
some  strange  magnet  up  the  gentle  slope. 
The  irregular  procession  had  a  cunous  hoh- 
.    day  air,   though  it  was  not  a   holy   day^ 

There  were  representatives  of  all  ranks  and 


rflJi^'wil&aR' ''*■•****'■' *^ -'"'■" 


=i«*'is-^*'-'-'^ 


ILDA 

there  was  a  sacred 
I  cannot  repent,  even 
ou  and  I  must  always 

link  of  what  I  would 
r  to  understand  what 
yours." 
,  hard  feeling  against 

at  only  to  please  me?" 

tny  soul." 

said,  with  the  strong 
which  instantly  carried 
ck  to  the  night  of  their 
mond  Lodge, 
for    a  little  while  in 
trees  near  the  Villa 
to  look  at  the  vista  of 
n  an  arch  of  ilex-green, 
I  on  again. 

e  crowd  was  steadily 
ed  as  if  a  large  part  of 
m  were  being  drawn  by 
et  up  the  gentle  slope, 
jsion  had  a  curious  holi- 
was  not  a  holy  day. 
atatives  of  all  ranks  and 


GRISELDA 


329 


ages,  and  a  strange  variety  of  costume.     A 
group  of  uniformed  soldiers  jostled  a  line  of 
black-cassocked  priests.     Mendicant  moth- 
ers carrying  elfish-eyed  babes  walked  side 
by  side  with  picturesque    oflBcers  in  blue- 
gray  cloaks  worn  with  a  grace  suggestive  of 
a  toga-clad  ancestry.     A  party  of  bronzed 
and    bearded    Capuchin    monks,  in    rough 
brown    habits    and    sandals,  gossiped    and 
joked,  while  three  or  four  exquisite  young 
Roman  nobles  bore  themselves  with  a  grav- 
ity more  than  monastic. 

Among  the  pedestrians  horses  plunged, 
seemingly  without  regard  to  human  life  or 
limb.  Now  it  was  a  landau  filled  with  ladies 
that  went  by,  now  a  public  cab  containing 
some  solitary  stranger.  Elderly  Roman 
princes  and  princesses  passed  on  to  the  daily 
semi-state  parade,  followed  by  a  party  of 
jovial  ecclesiastics.  There  was  no  haste, 
but  no  order;  no  visible  precaution  against 
accident,  but  no  apparent  danger, 

Glenorchie  piloted  Griselda  through  the 
crowd,  but  there  was  no  possibility  of  con- 
versation until  they  were  on  the  broad  ter- 
race above  the  winding  road  which  leads  up 
from  the  Piazza  del  Popolo.  Here  there 
was  comparative  freedom,  and  the  greater 


t.-»;sC^-fi-.^-*- '^♦»^"**flVi^ 


330 


GRISELDA 


part  of  Rome  was  stretched  out  like  a  map 
before  them.  They  sat  down  w^^h  ^heir 
backs  to  the  crowd  and  the  band-stand,  and 
began  to  talk  of  the  view. 

Then  a  long  silence  fell.  .t^  *  „. 

••I  suppose  this  is  the  last  time  that  we 
shall  sit  together  like  this." 

"I  suppose  so,"  she  assented. 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  know."  ,      „    ,^^  , 

She  spoke  so  softly  that  he  hardly  heard 

^%e  say  that  we  are  kept  apart;  what  is 
'' St  h^our  sense  of  honor?"  she  asked. 

"You  mean  my  fear  of  public  opinion^ 
They  wouTd  say  in  London  t^  J  ^f  jf^ 
to  regain  by  marriage  what  I  had  lost  by 
law     Would  it  hurt  you  if  they  did? 

"Would  it  hurt  you?' '  she  asked. 

"It  would  make  me  indignant.'' 

"It  would  make  me  unhappy." 

"Why?"  .  .  .„,. .. 

"Because  I  should  know  it  was  not  true.  ^^ 
"I  should  resent  it  bitterly  for  your  sake, 

he  said. 
"And  I  for  yours." 
Then  another  silence  fell. 


^-^■l'vy:M*MJ^*»:s«***«■K 


yi^_c^aG*«»=^-^s.^*s»fr'  ■- 


.DA 

ched  out  like  a  map 
it  down  with  their 
the  band-stand,  and 

V. 

ell. 

le  last  time  that  we 

lis." 
.ssented. 


that  he  hardly  heard 
B  kept  apart;  what  is 

of  honor?"  she  asked, 
ar  of  public  opinion, 
ndon  that  I  had  tried 
e  what  I  had  lost  by 
ou  if  they  did?" 
?"  she  asked. 

indignant." 

unhappy." 

know  it  was  not  true." 
bitterly  for  your  sake," 


ce  fell. 


GRISELDA 


331 


"I  hope  we  may  sometimes  meet  when  we 
are  all  in  England." 

"Yes,  I  hope  so,"  she  said. 

"My  mother,  too,  would  like  to  see  you. 
She  understands  you  now.     I  always  knew, 
even  when  we  were  at  Ascot,  that  she  was 
Bghting  against  her  growing  love  for  you 
I  told  you  so.     Perhaps  if  we  haa  married 
she  might  never  have  learnt  to  know  you  as 
she  does.     She  thinks  you  very  noble.     You 
will  find  her  changed— softened  and  very 
humble.     She  is  lonely,  too.     She  is  going 
to  ask  you  to  make  her  a  visit  at  Tunbndge 
Wens.     I  hope  you  will  go. " 

"Tt  will  be  my  greatest  comfort  in  life  to 

Vou  are  very  good, ' '  he  said. 

And  again  a  silence  fell.  ^^ 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  say  good-bye, 
Griselda  said  at  last. 

♦ '  If  you  wish  it, ' '  he  said. 

"I  should  like  to  be  a  little  while  alone. 

"Then  I  will  go  away." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  going  close  to 
the  parapet  stood  looking  down  on  Rome. 

When  he  turned  there  was  that  in  his  face 
which  drew  from  Griselda  all  the  love  and 
pity  of  her  overflowing  heart.    In  an  mstant 


33* 


GRISELDA 


i 


she  was  strong  again-strong  because  she 
thought  not  of  herself  but  of  him  alone 
Springing  to  her  feet  she  caught  him  by 

*^"Ni^el,  you  shall  not  go,"  she  cried,  in  a 
voice  tlia;  was  low  and  thrilling.  "We  shall 
not  be  torn  asunder  thus." 

He  could  not  reply.  His  teeth  were 
clenched  to  keep  back  the  emotion  which  his 
simple  nature  made  no  more  effort  to  con- 
ceal He  could  only  look  down  with  frank 
blue,  brimming  eyes  into  the  eager  face  that 

cazed  up  into  his. 

Then  by  a  common  impulse,  silently,  and 
with  cUsped  hands,    they  turned  together 
towards  Rome-Rome,  which  became  sud- 
denly, in  their  young  imaginations,  the  city  of 
gold  and  green  and  azure,  where  all  beau- 
£  all  arts,  all  aspirations  centre  forever- 
mie^    For  here,  where  the  dead  -ntunes 
can  be  counted  one  by  one  back  into  the 
very  twilight  of  the  world,  there  is  also  a 
Itrange   consciousness  of  perpetual   youth 
and  spring;  here,  where  Time's  work  can 
^ost   visibly    be    traced,   it   is    also  mos 
thoroughly  effaced;  here  where  ««  much  « 
crumbling    into   dignified   decay,    there    is 
also  the  restless,  rapid,  never-ending  evo- 


LDA 

-strong  because  she 

lut  of  him  alone. 

t  she  caught  him  by 

;  go,"  she  cried,  in  a 
thrilling.    "We  shall 

as."  ■* 

y.  His  teeth  were 
:he  emotion  which  his 
o  more  effort  to  con- 
3ok  down  with  frank, 
[ito  the  eager  face  that 

impulse,  silently,  and 
they  turned  together 
!,  which  became  sud- 
iaginations,  the  city  of 
Lzure,  where  all  beau- 
■ations  centre  forever- 
jre  the  dead  centuries 
by  one  back  into  the 
world,  there  is  also  a 
«  of  perpetual   youth 
here  Time's  work  can 
aced,   it   is    also  most 
lere,  where  so  much  is 
Qified  decay,    there    is 
pid,  never-ending  evo- 


GRISELDA 


333 


gone. 


THE  END 


t\. 


y 


;* 


■^a-sggj^&'wyi" ' i«j^,^   \'y- 


